Here is a poem in honor of COP 29, the United Nations Climate Change Conference happening now. The usual suspects, including a fossil-fuel friendly chair and a slew of fossil fuel lobbyists, will fiddle while Rome and all distant provinces burn.
Your Fired
The plan
It on fire
We are fuels
Won and all
Boosters of crude
Polluting heir
Water
And soil
Our earth
Going nuclear
Such a waste
In hour 10,000 year rain
Bought a bout
Buy a hole fracking planet
Mine, mine, mine
Everything except the carbon sync
Extracting that on the money rendition
Of Mother Earth
And awe the wile
Wee are tolled
We have nothing to sphere
But sphere itself
Sow ledges
The master raze
Gloriously economical
Plenty of Jobs
On a planet dying
To give us life
What are we
Missing
Re: generation
