The great hand of time
Moves `round rumbling in the blue,
Vast whips of saturated choice
Lash the impertinent sails
and the howling of dissenters
Can be heard `neath the chiding oars
Speeding the hour upon the mottled shores
as the oily albatross glides the world
Commandeering the air and ground
In its slippery waddle and squawk of certain truth.
Our albatross; man’s intent
sullying the world in swift hegemony
Leaving time with all the wasters, the lethargic,
and the broken masses bellyaching `round the hours
Hunched and offended in their stale air.
The mournful scuff of muffled bitterness
Confiscates the heavens and the oil baron
Plunges the earth, hijacking forest and plain
and ocean in his dastardly trample and screech
Toward certain failure.