Knowing the Archduke of fire as I do,
We have little chance of two thousand Junes
Instead we expect mouths of garbage
And seas of sin where
Harmless sky and old fish mix
With an odd, Sewage-like effect.
This is how we know we are by the ocean.
Eating what we catch we copy the fashion
Of cheapest raw hermits
Before the smell drives us out
And we go looking for air.