Best End Date

My visit to Earth has grown long,

weariness coming to outweigh hope.

Too long I think, people more exasperating than words

can tell, stubbornly glued to self-destruction,

blind to their inability to learn from experience.

My next world might be a fantasy of fun,

rock candy mountains and marshmallow skies,

fluffy cats that talk and sing like birds.

Or, maybe a planet totally covered with water.

I would need gills, a bit clumsy but not so bad

as psychosis or the Earthian version of "Love."

Maybe I can live for a while on a planet of

dinosaurs, which are known to be grumpy but

do possess the admirable trait that they never

conceal their motives.

The people of Earth are getting ready for their

third, fourth or fifth suicide. So addicted to drama.

I will probably be gone, thank God.

Stop and look if you are passing through.

It makes a smashing show: smoke, fire and ice,

floods, flashes, bombs, wind and violence,

a colorful flower blooming in space,

except for the billions of black rotting bodies.