Fryday.

The Earth found fire,
she was a glutton for air-
the Earth turned to gray,
we have lost colors as though channeling the spirit of dogs,
the deepest blue is always black.

Mister Char and Melt have inherited the earth,
they hurried to the courthouse in a dark soot but
the courts were ash. Forget the paperwork-
the bureaucrats have quit complaining.
They seem to be more worried about
unforgivable invasions of privacy from worms and
seventy different species of maggots.
The entomologists rejoice, but
litigation is a dead science and
dead science is reserved for Thermodynamics
and the statistics of temperatures that belong
to burning and melting.

The dead historians cannot pen the new eternity-
their old sentiment and older mistakes
now belong to holidays and heatstrokes,
to vacations and vanquished races.

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