Afternoon

We are afternoon,
Set in line on this train
And we spy Whitman's decay,
The coast where it started
Where Jefferson wrote,
As he once rode winged stallions
And touched the dharma,
The feathered imprint of freedom,
Flustering by Maryland, Virginia
Her forests,
Now do I peer into
The sick trees
Of junk-rusted winter
Cold as the mind darkens.
The empire is falling.

Whitman was late morning,
As he flew over her forests
And saw the power of the land rise,
Rise for the white man
And the bloody war over the slaves
He came
Late morning
Before the noon Zenith of Hiroshima,
Of empire,
Japan's surrender.
America has done things
As power set circulating
Which Rome could only dream of.

I am late afternoon.
The sun is low,
Bowing down to the sunset of the future.
The glowing opening shall come,
The circle from Christ's murder complete.
All Empires from Rome's womb shall fall,
And I am afternoon
As Whitman was morning.
I shall sing of this land's decay.
I shall see lumbered forests illumined,
Hear Elf-song in the garbage dumps
And ride this train to New York
Spanning infinity,
Embracing verse from the other spheres,
For I know the math of the universe.
Whitman only saw the heart.
The morning hard-on of the body electric;
But I see afternoon
And all the moons are spinning
Retrograde --
Back to the fall,
The brick buildings of our cities
Red with blood
Like dying stars
Crumbling
After America,
All commodities pummeled,
Confusion.
The biosphere will
Revenge itself
Over America
After this afternoon.