Baskadia

Turning and sorting in the mystery of being and human desire,

The falcon goes to the rule of law, unless care the falconer,

Things fall apart, the center cannot hold,

Mere entity is oozed out upon the world,

The blood-rose is bloomed, and elsewhere,

The syntax of innocence is revolved,

The best lack all uncertainty principle, while the worst,

Are full of attractive gravity.

Surely Yeats' hoped revelation is at hand,

Surely the Second Coming is at hand.

The Second Coming! Hardly the alternative history come-out

When choosing our universe out of the Viking's Skoll and Hati

Troubles my sight: somewhere in milky-ways of the orbit

A shape of rocket with head-size of a nuclear damn,

A hag-blast and robbing from the sun,

Is swamping its speedy-light, while all about it

Raw shadows of the ignorant seabirds.

The deathbeds spread out again; but I know

That twenty-first century of virtual sleep

Were vexed to nightmare by a metal missile,

And what nucleic beast, its moment, come round at last,

Toots towards humanity to be down?

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