extinction ataraxia

our eden is magma
brined without atmosphere.
apples! ha!

not on your carbonic former life.
and thus the future is the past.
and milton need not lucifer nor satan nor beelzebub.

our faustian bargain
was struck by the sun
when the lights went on in a flash.

our mess is our own
but only in time;
eternity scoffs at our strife.

rage not, poets and prize fighters,
your efforts are veils 
for the end of every life.