Tethys,
out of boozy mere
across Europa’s flax,
above the bull’s heave,
hooves like plummetstones
where light penetrates
the starved gulf,
transforming it
into a blue desert.
In the bright
funereal moment, to toast
the obvious lessons
impressed by this
servitude of flesh.
Kill me, world.
The cloistered starker
sweats her cloud
of alcohol and poppy.
Geography of twists,
French-knickered
in lavender flora,
extends from one end
of her grin
to the other.
Do you think I care
whether you find it funny or not?
Darkness follows, suppressing
photosynthesis: widespread
extinction of species
and the parallel collapse
of food-chains, the just and
brittle response.
After you, Mademoiselle Deluge!