The Heir to Everything

Riding through the warm and greeny air

the Heir to Everything regards

the imminence of Spring

as too conventional to bear –

surely he can conjure up

a rarer mission for the year than March:

something with more punch and starch –

a sharpness of division, split as if by a harpoon

into a mad excess of sultry midnight, frigid noon:

full of the ignoble forming

of conditions human beings

will insist on calling global warming.

.