Scaling the Flame J.S. MacLean
Colossal colonies of hard secretion with raceways webbing cropland and current like scent of ant or polar brain of tern, burn and burn and burn. At midnight when rain drops sear, naked apes debate umbrella trees, but forget at noon in waves of want. Relax and live on as poles soften, oceans surge, and deserts creep like restoration of the savage birth. Damp the fire with trash and ashes and make the fatwood last so dusks require no petition. Or, have the village drunk on plunder punch, heap all the tinder soused with all the gas, spree it up round the climax of humans until we collapse as pools of tallow that will coat some wick, yet unwoven.
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