The Fury Of Earth

The day of fire is coming, the thrush,

will fly ablaze like a little sky rocket,

the beetle will sink like a giant bulldozer,

and at the breaking of the morning the houses

will turn into oil and will in their tides

of fire be a becoming and an ending, a red fan.

What then, man in your easy chair,

of the anointment of the sick,

of the New Jerusalem?

You will have to polish up the stars

with Bab-o and find a new God

as the earth empties out

into the gnarled hands of the old redeemer.


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