woods-mayans

Over your grave a goose change gears
The science is weird
Mayans never counted to here
Dying sun glare through thin atmosphere
Windshield smeared, A/C blasting old air
Standstill traffic, human landfills dot the landscape, ravaged
Trousers on the ape, but he still savage

Thought:

“

On starry heights
  A bugle wails the long recall;
Derision stirs the deep abyss,
  Heaven’s ominous silence over all.
Return, return, O eager Hope,
  And face man’s latter fall.
Events, they make the dreamers quail;
Satan’s old age is strong and hale,
A disciplined captain, gray in skill,
And Raphael a white enthusiast still;
Dashed aims, at which Christ’s martyrs pale,
Shall Mammon’s slaves fulfill?

“

Herman Melville | “The Conflict of Convictions”

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