the prophets predicted plague
They sent messages as sutures
for wounds mysteriously vague
Then the bloody screams came
from doves wounded and insane
"How can this be?"
"Why me? Why The..."
-no words, no words
and a canary parroted silence
Having held some esoteric elation
the poets set to speak of it in pen
Commending cause above causation
with no meaning in means or ends
With their tongues tied to tombs
their ravens wept from old wounds
"To be or not be..."
"Why me? Why be?"
-no words, no words
and a canary parroted silence
Having felt the pull of strings
the puppets pantomimed in sync
With the flapping of fallen-angel wings
their googley eyes roll but never blink
"What else will it be?"
"Aren't you looking at me?"
-no words, no words
and a canary parroted silence
All the prophets, poets, and puppets
poured down the rabid rabbit holes
ruffle feathers, screech songless trumpets,
and vanish into the abysmal coals
Fools fueling the fossil fuels
Dualists dueling didactic duels
All descending
Nothing mending
"Can't we see?"
"Must this be?"
-no words, no words
and a canary parrots silence
