Academic journal article Parnassus : Poetry in Review

Prophecy Song

Academic journal article Parnassus : Poetry in Review

Prophecy Song

Article excerpt

And even the malls will disintegrate,

their wood to the dust of wood, their glass

to the dust of glass, their plastifoam

and diet lemonade and beveled zirconium

no more now to the wind than is the dust

of the grit of the stone of the cave at Delphi

or the slurred face of the Sphinx.

There are no two snowflakes alike-and the same

for stars of sheetrock floating out

of Victorias secret and The Disney Store. The flecks

of high-designer silk, the flecks of ripoff rayon,

commingle congenially as equals, even as passing storms

of globules from the transfat fryer blend now

with those inky beads of damp pressed out

from hearts of Magic 8-Balls, it will all

be chaff, and less than chaff, will all be loosened

congeries of mallecules adrift in space, yes even

Spaghetti Warehouse, even Restoration Hardware, the malls

were our temples, yet they will disintegrate

in reliable corruption as surely as Ozymandias did

and the gates of Eden. And the temples

will disintegrate. Their golden lions

or eighteen-foot-tall crosses or simple marble fonts

will go the way of the clover and the snows,

their gods will be as anise drops

in the salivations of Time-the invisible god

no less than the monkey-faced one

with the pliable, pendulous earlobes. And the holiest

of water . . . still, its hydrogen and oxygen

will each secede. The punkly, rockly, gothly, po-mo

strip club over the county line will snap

in half, and its posters announcing hotmama Gandhi

will flash like a sorcerer's fingertips

(when dueling a fellow sorcerer with lightning beams),

and then they will settle as ash, among the ash

of the crematorium, which had a head start. …

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