Monday, May 12, 2008


Angels cry. Why? Who can tell? Are they daughters of God, Agents of hell? The howling Wind Wolves know. In the beginning God was sinning. Waters poured down to cleanse tainted souls.

Rage and Fury, judge and jury, lost control. Their goal: Earth, a diminished planet of unfinished worth hastily designed by God out of His mind. Too large, too soon. Who needed another moon?

Winds breathe deep, blew tears flow down, throats of a sleeping town. Thousands drowned. Devil roars with laughter. He knew what would come after. Bodies floating in the sea. Sharks on a gorging spree. All the fish had their fill. Was it God's will?

The Winds of Time continued to blow. Angel tears flowed down, covered a sleeping, weeping town. Thousands drowned. The devil roared with laughhtr. He knew what would come after. Waves of waves slashed brutally. Cannonballs of mud rolled in. Flood survivors were buried alive in sucking mud; a cadavery conglomeration of creation joined the mix: houses, homes and cars, cigars, cans and candy bars, news of wars in late editions, petitions, submissions religious missions and traditions, exhibitions, climate conditions, premonitions. Baseball scores, sales galore, dollar bill, cheap thrills. Flyers, buyers, prices higher, no fires, world's too wet. How bad can it get?

We, the, living dead, live lives in dread, in bed, on crutches and canes, addled brains, some insane. Monkeys, donkeys, gnus, kangaroos, preposterous hippopotamus and rhinoceros, ants and elephants, apes both men and women simians, rats, cats and hanging bats, acrobats and aristocrats, mountain goats sought higher ground, drowned in world turned upside down, inside out, round about, trees stand on their heads, roots wave bye-bye to sky. Where are birds who used to fly?

Millions dead. Blood runs red. Who once slept in that bed? There floats a baby. Where's the crib? Vans. Sedans. Garbage cans. Pots and pans. Electric fans. Toasters, Roasters, Knives and forks, Bottle corks. Watches, clocks, no tick-jocks, Lots of locks, no keys on chains, no crutches, canes, computer brains. Mish-mash worthless trash bought with stolen credit card.

Yards with swings and children things, outdoor bar-b-cues. running shoes, undrunk booze, greed, need and chicken-feed, garden seed and pesky weeds, the evening news, Who Aint Who Who, here's where Red, White Blue once flew, flowers grew, apples, oranges, onions, too.Where kids rode bikes. little tykes learned to walk and talk, cats stalked rats, kids wore baseball caps, slept on laps beneath the moon on warm nights in June.

It's all gone. Survivors fear the dawn. All that's left, a once green lawn turned brown. Rubbled buildings down, downtown a house once a home complete with built-in baby sitter. No place to count sheep, fall asleep, no joyful laughs of girls and boys, no simple joys. No Christmas toys. More sorrow tomorrow.

What's that rumble? What's that roar? What's that shaking for? Could it be? A quake? How much more can we take? For God's sake. Gimme a break!


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