The brain rumbles in pre- apocalyptic intimations,
Sparks of panic streak the troubled sleepless nights,
Outline the indefinables in waves of trembling fears.
Zeus and Thor cackle in their rocking chairs about how it was
Back when their powers held the planet firm.
And Clark Kent cowers in his underwear in some dark alley
Wondering what happened to that telephone booth,
Long replaced by cell phones, where his suit and cape are hidden.
The brittle shell, grips, like a fist, the molten energy that sustains,
Deep within the planet’s core, now restless that paces like some zoo tiger
Within its tight cage, eager to break loose to shoot its anger to the stars.
The constraints on the energies within the Sun, in equal ferocity,
Growls in sympathy.
We fleas upon the backs of monsters are strangely eager
To itch them to scratch away our nuisances in order
That they might proceed, in their own majestic way,
To slope down undisturbed to their entropic Bethlehem.
The fragile tragic-comedic farce of human economics and politics
Plays on to an audience lost in miseries, in uncertainties,
Where the purported brilliance of humanity has wandered off
Into the sadistic delights of military dead ends and the wonders
Of massacre fantasies within the intricate joys of video heroism.
No doubt we must be grateful for the somewhat clumsy theatrics
Now on display to puncture any possibility of mutual respect,
Of inherent decency which, despite its timid rarity, does, on occasion
Make a brief appearance in human history, somewhat awkwardly.
So, the doubts are rapidly disappearing that this is not the final act.
The stage is set, all the flashy props are in place and the actors, well-rehearsed.
Whether this wonderful and rather unique bit of theater is purely spontaneous
Or has its script edited and plotted since the monkeys moved out of the trees,
Is beyond our present technology to detect, but there are prominent suspicions.
It’s been a pleasure to watch it unfold.