"The Old Hound Is Getting Slower," A Weird Catastrophe Poem

                                                      The Old Hound Is Getting Slower

                                               there’s people out there
                                    tearing themselves apart from each other,
                                                 screaming,
                                         flayed skin on the carpet,
                                                  hot red wounds bursting
                                 for the teeming crowd,
                                            the horde
                                     of billions
                                      waiting in line to take replacement,
                                driving the lives of two people asunder
                                           so that everyone
                                       gets a taste of everyone

                         the people are free and they’re out there
                                  and they all want everything
                              all the time
                                   it doesn’t stop,
                            the world runs mad with desire
                                   and it’s heaven, truly,
                                        at last on earth
      
                               I’ve seen it,
                                we don’t need to wait for the coming of the lord
                            we’ve found it now,
                        here,
                             whether you’re ready or not

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