The New Darker Ages

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Rust of iron bridge muddies the river,
but dam leaks antifreeze to turn it green.
Winston Green's Gold Dust, Inc.,
coughs up a black pepper of coal.
Smoke rings from boardroom
tighten nooses around breathless clouds.

All the noble winds are long dead,
no longer loose to disturb the peace.
The heat wave is homeless but lives everywhere,
quiet but waving like a silent alarm.
Falling leaves ooze slowly
down the oily ghost of air.
A rumor somehow blows around:
Inside tall buildings the green still grows;
private air still flows.

Joy has turned to sludge in my lungs.
All I want is energy to get me home,
a hand in the dark living room to take mine--
and if it could breathe--
a candle to rip through this long, long night.