climate chains

we wake up in a western

where the future us

are cast as an extra, in a town

where even the sky goes

out with a bang

the script is audited, by the IRS,

until each line is one of our wrinkles;

cameras conjugate our portraits

into an atlas of all the roads taken

john wayne, wearing a red armband,

boards a bullet train to a backyard

and melts his mettle into scrap.

"we have become cold fronts", you say,

"who can never talk about the weather".