An opaline disc radiates the water’s edge
And mirrors its glare;
Highlighting the dusty scum there;
Persistent gnats batter unheard.
June first of two thousand and four
Seventeen year cicada dance
Rising up from the root floor.
To clatter in sex frenzy---
orange munchkin men!
Screeching their metallic hiss
In unearthly battle choir.
Time for the moon
Bound to earth by a leash
Surveying civilization without cease
Like a priestcraft of police.
Who reckon the hour of man’s demise;
Lunar dust crunched
Beneath boots of astronauts,
Lonely footsteps treading
Into the future desert
The busy highpriests plot.
Weaving, devising, like a spider in waiting,
Undimming in focus,
Serenading the fates.
A merry dance, the wild birds cry,
The opaline disc
Announces midnight
And surrenders its borrowed light.
The village feast cracks open wide
While the earth rests
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