Grasses to ashes, ashes to the Grapes of Wrath
Fibrous humus crushed beneath the heavy laden hoof
What cause is this but thirst?
The sparse Sahara creeps
Past pillars of Hercules
Across the short sea to Sicilly
And in the West, the ice face of the Shore weeps.
We have left barrels uncast
A waste of fireworks far up a mountain pass
Silos of have built missiles
Half filled with grain
A just in time refined to adjust
The severity of pain.
What can justice be? In this time
Of Kings made children
Toys of the tools still writhing in their hands
A screech a swatch on clouded heaven
A tremor where we stand.
The demand curve shows a human surplus
The cost of death has decimated
The price of life a hockey stick
Of possibility and purpose.
This edifice of rock and light, of copper
Built atop a ziggurat, the tilted axis teetering
A hairpin slipped, the lever live
The young colt moves to cantering.
The free world has betrayed its name
Built its opposite by reflection
And seethes beneath a film of scum
As Olympus wars in insurrection.
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