Oil Change Poem by Jim Young

The sat nav of the Gadarene swine
is pouring over the oil wells,
one last fracking fix.
The metronome of extinction
is ticking off the species
in a migraine of shanty proclamations.
The departure board can
delay our departure no longer.
Go to the gate at the end of time - now!
Obesity has supersaturated
the graves of wait and see,
but we can no longer digitise
the juggernaut.

The cadaver of Gaia is fasciculating
in the morgue of sepulchral space,
so dread and dark, and infinitely cold.
Dancing in close at the witching hour
we are lost in each other's embrace,
all-consumed in the last tears of regret,
at laying the stuff of evolution on the pyre
of no return - ever! Never ever!
For there will be no one to remember
the polluted extermination of mankind,
to deny the quicksand, even as the
tar sands choke in every orifice,
or refuge from the truth just out of mind.
Mindless in an hypnotic eternal sleep.

The tank track grinds forward,
crushing all in its path,
and as the tracks derail
we tumble into the abyss.
We have blown it all away,
every last thistle of the mind.
When the last phone stops ringing
we know there will never be an answer.
There will be no lastpost played
at the going down of the sun
or on the morning of our demise.

So burn forever, hell-bent in your
don't care, don't care!
Lucifer has won.
But you will care. Smouldering.
For as you sup your one oil for the road,
that demon spirit in the Gaderene swine
will drive you into the abyss.
When the very last life form dies,
so will the history of everything,
gone forever at the end of days.
In this one world that is.

So that's it - Isn't it?