Song of Innocence

When it comes, the oceans
will repossess the sun. Vines
will burst from the earth,
strangle the lawyers, bankers,
usurers, yank their slack corpses
down to its seven-bellied broil.

It shall come swiftly
and with trumpets. The ribs
of old lizards will gather air
and clay, compound mud
and fire, rise belligerent
and muscular. Beware

the elms are blood-suckers,
the sparrows sly assassins
and the grottoes trap-doors
to the pit. Beware of beavers;
on that day they shall gnaw
men's ankles, topple them like pines
and call up the venom-bearers.

Your hide shall be apparel for foxes
and mink; children will skip rope
swinging your intestines. Ah children,
they shall inherit the earth; shall run,
shall climb, shall never even speak.