Angel on the Beach
We’ve set out for the future barefooted in the storm; fiddling while the icepack burns.
Waters rise and air darkens.
Tornadoes of electronic opinion sweep away conscious thought and intention alike. Dumbfounded we react as if programmed. Like a cheap child’s toy we react a little less each time the button is mashed, until the battery of sensation is completely flat. So that sentiment merely clicks as water and radiation rise.
Everyone knows but (they) react as though watching a car wreck in slow motion. As if there were nothing to be done but wince…
Meanwhile Angels walk the beach, tracing the disappearing shoreline, playing requiems for species departed while praying solemnly for those that remain.