Walden Pond redux

the stage is where you play

there's no curtain 

the audience is intense

you believe you know which way to go

but you're not making sense

the kingdoms old and gray

poetry sighs

the Surrealists barely alive

and parties of God hold the veto

and you might not survive

with fire on your fingertips

traffic in haze

Walden Pond on a heat wave

with fall leaves shimmering over grass

there's no one left to save

spinning around the sun

fishing for life

dinosaurs and human death

clinging to a piece of day-old bread

sipping a final breath.