A Poem that Drank the Planets Out of the Sky By Wolf Larsen As the world marches forward into world war three I write a poem, as the land opens its legs to the falling nuclear missiles I make love to you on a huge white page of loudness (the words touching and touching our nakedness like a roar), and we proudly hold up our baby to sacrifice for the approaching mushroom clouds and we smile and smile like shipwrecks at each other and the composers smile like hundreds of monsters sleeping on your tongue and the composers laugh like every fantastic nightmare you have ever touched, in contemporary baroque I unite six billion voices singing their own eulogy, on beautiful sunny days all the flowers are reciting the last words of the human race Copyright 2004 by Wolf Larsen
Thank you Kitten, 100% Liberal, and Sylvan. And you're right Sylvan, all these wars unleashed by the rulers of the world are very disturbing. Because we still live in a world of nuclear weapon stockpiles (like the one held by the U.S.A.) the future of the Human Race is uncertain. Best wishes, Wolf L.
