thunder claps last

the satisfactoriness of a good poem
   is boring
the poet is so "I"
the allusion so transparent
but let's pretend that language is immortal
then listen
for after all
civilization is coming unstitched

sleepers obey
invisible terrorists

on land
machines obey
an invisible hand
led by profit
cost permitting

Gaia's trove of energy
that slept through eons
has fueled this world wide iteration
filled the air with retribution
weeping floods, howling tornadoes, and violent shaking

tremble civilization
your suicide will be forgotten

cells that preceded human history
ruled it with "I"
made self a prison

through the bars a freedom song
that soft rustling bird
perhaps a memory

silent mind