Apocalyptic Rhythm

Feigning we’d acknowledge no successor
to the throne of our dimensions,
we would graphically display
the possibilities before us
and pseudo-judiciously
set our course for ever more.

We can run through the jungle.
We’re agile in the woods.
Yet though we know the world is round
we still fall off the edge.

Make us naked,
won’t you, Reason.
Take the Truth and grip us, free us.
Show us with your patience
the sources of the forces
that keep the worlds in ordered spirals
giving credence to your minstrels.

Smooth apocalyptic rhythm,
cast the dragon to the chasm
to raise the blind, rouse our mind
and send us off to school on time.

Our designs failing may deceive us
but new dimensions will receive us.
Have no fear.
There’s nothing here
that left behind should ever grieve us.

June 1987

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