Crawling through volcanic ash
reaching up for a glimmer of light 
from a sky long abandoned by the stars
I search for survivors among the ruins 
but I can no longer trace a scent of life...
I once chased those who destroyed their own property 
but they all died before me...
it wasn't meant to go this far...
the lone remaining life form after the 6th extinction came
my booth in the 7th circle is no longer reserved 
probably booked under the wrong name...
consulted by delusions speaking Sumerian
the false prophets of repositioning 
I still have flashbacks from a future spent in the middle ring
the profligates all carry axes and chainsaws
no longer petrified and chased by dogs
I've lost enough branches to become pretty good 
at being sold as firewood
they market me
as the tallest tree
still growing long after dry-rotted and dead
I remain rooted to my sins
with an ink pen made from a syringe 
signing each page with morphine
wondering if this paper was made
from my dead arms...
I stare up through the layers above 
dilated pupils searching for that sunshine
which once upon a time
eclipsed my night...
She was called a bitch more than life 
with an atmosphere between her thighs
burning all that entered...
I believed so deeply in a lie
that I was made of steel
until it became real
and she could no longer scorch me...
I never allowed her to shower after sex
still I beat her for smelling the way that she did
hurt her worse than it hurt me
but it pained mother most of all, I believe ...
These twilights always fade
and become distant memories
to be chased away from
by rabid beasts through the trees
hastily panting
while I wonder
how the shoe ever got
on the other foot...