JUDGEMENT DAY

Some of the sleepers in the earth,
Of course, will sleep quietly

When the thin, pale roots
Of trees crack open their pods,

They will wrap around their skins,
Not tight, but firm,

Holding them in place
Like well-planted seeds;

Animals with long, dark hands,
With cold, smooth snouts
Will find them out
And feed on them

And leave the clean plate,
The skull'd white house
And hte skull

Shall be set on a rock,
And light shall pour
From its eyes

And the animals with long, black hands
Shall be hunted and eaten
And in the end, it shall be

As at that ancient feast,
Flesh eating human flesh
While the host

Takes the great pitcher from the sideboard
And into the goblets,
Radiance pours.

Other sleeps in the earth
Will no be deep,
The rivers will flood the banks;
The banks will give way;

They will be carried down the stream,
Found, rotten in a green, green field,
Dined on by the vulture, the rat,
The mad dog,

Their reincarnations shot or shunned or burned.
They will be the ash
That makes the air in bad dreams
Thick.

When you wake, they will settle.
They will sink to the hot earth's core,
Neither asleep nor awake.