mucousy tract
in my left lung
wrought by spores
of pestilence.
children of flora and fauna,
spawn of rapid climactic shifts
disabling the reach of
a season.
expanding the glum atmosphere
in equatorial regions.
equating my sinuses to be
as tempered as the seasons.
thank you
john deere,
henry ford,
george eastman,
for making the world a snow globe.
not with flakes of white,
but emissions of dust,
soot and carbon
lay at my feet
and fill my lungs
until the day i die.
i’ll fill this paper
decorated with ink and pointless
diatribes.
and inhale this new oxygen,
carbon monoxide.
or dioxin.
or ddt,
i can’t keep track.