Lynda Brown

FAULTY BUBBLE

We’ll keep moving
in the undulating mass
of science and government
and, when the blast comes,
draw barbequed breath
thru the cracks in the caves
of our skulls
and old man, Death, will be out there
running his greedy tongue
over the scorched experiments
of scientists and politicians,
lapping the ash from mortal bones,
laughing over the simpleton’s (mortal man’s)
inflated ego bursting like the faulty bubble
it always was

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