The Last Man

Standard

The sun grilled hell
a dome of barren clouds

the trees grew
ends sharp like spears

the headstones bared no names
spider webs without spiders

all the lands were hinterlands
landfills were all the lands

vultures hovered, lizards slithered
dead fish washed at the banks

in the thin river of waste;
burnt books, tires, and tar

and there stood The Last Man
wading into the carcass
of a planet that thawed.

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