One thinks of judgment coming from above
But deep within the soul the trumpet sounds
One thinks the world’s struck dumb by heaven’s wrath
But empty seas and treeless lands all shout
Their wrath at trash and beetles from abroad.
The bees that died live! Un-pollinated blooms
As they do shed their barren seed, scream.
All live in post-apocalyptic gloom.
My own body, mutely eloquent
Speaks the story of a tawdry past
The knees that broke because of excess weight
That came from all the food I blithely ate
The back that twists, a poison ivy vine
That fused inside while I in life reclined
The lungs that wheeze, protesting all the smoke
From endless cigarettes washed down with coke
For judgment day, no need to fear
Inside us, it’s already here.
