It’s no secret that the Sermon on
the Mount
ended
with shackles and nails.
Galaxies
are flying away from each other
like
bats out of Dante’s hell
and
will die freeze-frame in the cold,
cosmic
inflation at a bargain basement rate.
It’s
all a matter of inertia until things become inert.
The
job of the wizard is to provide the spoiler alert.
But
is there any doubt that the Statue of Liberty
will
one day wade in the water?
What
a prophecy! What a tune!
God’s
gonna trouble the water, children,
or
maybe just his surrogate, but either way, ya know?
The
weatherman busted a move
and
gave us inconvenient truth.
As
sure as the fairy leaves cash for a tooth,
the
sea is going to rise and boil
and
toss around unmultiplied fish.
It’s
got its eyes on June.
Speaking
of apocalypse, I must interject
that
no one’s coming back to tidy up the store.
Ain’t
no rapture, rubble, or rub
gonna
bring down the curtain to satisfy the lore.
The
shoeshine boy at the corner
knows
it’s all about wine in a brown paper bag,
the
cheap stuff to help the world get by
with
its walkin’ blues.
All
this scat is no longer on a strictly need-to-know.
We
won’t make the turnaround jump shot
before
the buzzer drowns the court.
If
you want to know how the whole thing goes down,
a
spoiler alert as to who’s left wearing the crown,
consult
the stars or read your horoscope.
Six
down is a four letter word for hope.
Doo-wop
and well, well, well.
~William Hammett
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