Chicken Little

This was written before
we had other reasons to cry,
prior to the black smoke
that now blankets our breakfast
table with soot, the sky
already fallen.
Paul Adrian

I am the voice of Cassandra, outside the gates
of the walled city, with my prophecies of doom.

I am charged with the hoisting of the flags,
the preparation of the feast, the singing of songs.

My heart has fallen in between the first and second
toes, in my small left foot, near where I stepped

on the metal spikes, and had to pull out quickly,
spurting blood, pain, curses, violence.

I am a careful android, pretending as in Oz
to the possession of functioning ventricles.

The sky is falling, the world is falling, my heart
has fallen, in, out, behind the dust by the doorway.

Bring some entertainment, cheers, lies, colors
to ensure that the seer is distracted.

The sky is falling, the world is falling,
dark prophecies and omens abound.

Darkness reigns. I am blinded by the absence
of light. The sky has fallen in. 

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