as Saturn returns
to the skies, flanked
by five stars
& the jagged lightning
points to where the fauns abscond
with the neighborhood
dogs. The hills erupt
for the pleasure
of reposed Neptune
as he salinates the fertile
plains. Mark the serpents
as they make for
the snaky river where
your pet elephant hoses
no one. He will go
under & we will hope
to go on. When
I told you the gods
were dead, I never expected
that boulder to be rolled
back, never thought
anyone would ever bother
to read those
old scrolls again. See
how even the clouds are angry,
faces of petulant children
where once they were comforting
fluff. Why does Farmer John
bother bringing in
this season's crops? Why
try mapping the stars
when all is again the shifting
chaos of yesteryear,
all progress lost
to the followers of cargo
cults who fan themselves
with palm fronds?
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