DANCING ON THE SABBATH



Nature likes to think it’s won
the earthquake round, throwing up
the Nor’wester arc de triomphe,

flexing the muddy sky for the eschaton
fit to rip, shit and bust
and reveal God back there like
the Wizard behind his curtain.

But no;
no Four Horsemen, no Fimbulwinter,
just the old drag queen cabbage tree
fierce in her faded green wig and boa
crowned in costume madrepore

and rattling her sabres.

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