Eruption
Doves coo
and pigeons do what they do,
and all the bleating, mooing, whinnying cacophany
pours over the open sores of the temple floor.
There’s blood on the altar and screaming in the dark,
here -
in the shadow of the fragrant Ark
where blood is bought and sold,
the Rock of Ages grows tired and old beneath the dusty ground,
where thieves abound and piety toils,
and Divinity recoils at the sight of so much greedy sorrow.
Darkness will fall at the end of the world,
the beginning of all, tomorrow…
But now, it all erupts, like another Big Bang -
volcano-zealous and earthquake-committed,
Trickster rites and rights of Divinity
dancing the Demiurge’s choreography
to the rhythm of the beat -
and sacrificial lambs, bleating
“Hallelujah, Requiem Aeternum,”
all the way to the red hot altar and beyond all this,
to the yawning abyss…
Destroy the Temple,
free the lambs and give them fire to juggle.
Make shepherds of the sheep
and beat a tattoo for their liberated feet
- bring the Mothers out from incarcerated mourning,
out to the almost-dawning,
out to the sudden eclipse of the Sun before Glory dawns.
Hierology riots in the garden,
amongst the fragrant flowers and languid olive trees,
and hours tumble through the trembling leaves towards night…
A cockerel crows in the fragile light
as all is rearranged -
and everything is poised on the precipice
of change.
