the charcoal globe awards
Attenborough
they no longer believe ya
you Kookaburra
they have what they have
and they’ll burn in hell for the
harvest of what they have sown
what they own you disown at your peril
Canute could not arrest nor
contest in the heat of the moment
what the extinction movement
could but fleetingly irritate the sleeping
dragon’s breath or draw down
the fire curtain against ego’s nonchalance
even the softest voice warning of doom’s seduction
was stripped like a thistle silent in the scorching wind
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