3021 people

in one thousand and fifteen years,
people are taller-
gravity got tired.
hair is longer-
formal attire.
so many years of blunderous men,
making money-
taking credit.
crashing cars-
losing breath.
buildings bend under dissonant weight,
deserts howl-
oh, the sandy grave.

oceans blush-
what a rotten trade!
its 3021 and I'm still asleep,
wake me please-
i've missed enough.
rip the quilt away-
red with blood.

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