• Vol. 10
  • Chapter 04
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Post-apocalyptic sky

Fasten the mask tightly
over your nose and mouth.
Take a deep dive.
The water is murky.
Dive deeper.

Does the water still cleanse,
contaminated though it be?

Salt crystals cling to skin,
settle your hair into waves.

Red heads have an increased risk
of melanoma and other cancers
of the epidermal layer.

Soon, we will need help
to breathe, even on land.
Our lungs gulp in oxygen
released by trees,
a study in symmetry,
their branches above and
roots below twin tangled webs,
exclamations, explosions, clusters
of neurons sending messages,
making connections, helping us
learn, cementing new knowledge.


Post-apocalyptic sky

The mask is foggy, clear vision
impossible. Droplets, particles
cloud my field of sight. My face
a craggy rock, arthropods attached.

On the beach, I wrap my body
in buttery black leather, oblivious
to the oppressive heat, only trying
to protect my fragile self from
the sun’s deadly rays.

This planet is becoming
more dangerous minute
by minute by no one’s
fault but our own.