Bird Prophet Rising - Richard Schiffman

[Larry Robinson]

Bird Prophet Rising


Since you are asking who will save the Earth, 
I’ll tell you right now-- it won’t be some holy Jehovah, 
or the particle physicists, or the pimping politicos, 
or anything high and mighty floating in the sky above you,
but the earth itself lifting its frilly skirt, curling past 
the idiot brain, plunging clean to lung, to gut, to feet.

And then, go figure, those feet will start dancing 
like Bojangles, and the gut, forgetting all about 
the God in heaven, will pen breathless love letters 
to the mud it’s made of, and the lungs will burst 
their bloody balloons with such a pure and plangent 
draught that even the idiot brain will throb in its skull 
like the northern lights.

Mark my words, the eighty percent of your gray-matter
that is currently incommunicado, this planet is about 
to colonize like some Plymouth Rock in drag. 
The pilgrims will toss their bloody crucifixes for kindling, 
and the Injuns are going to bake them a Sweet Jesus 
mashed from cornmeal and the wheeling stars. 

And these shall be the signs of it-- somewhere a CEO 
will wake up stammering, “There never was a lotus 
that lowballed the mud.” And a Five Star General 
will declare, “The sun never called the rain its enemy.” 
And somewhere a jilted lover will confide, 
“The rose doesn’t feel cheated when the bee absconds 
with its fragrance.” And a geezer will exclaim, 
“The waxing moon and the waning moon 
are the very same moon.”

That’s right-- from that day onwards the following 
will be deemed proofs of God’s existence: 
that the river never runs away from the sea;
that a pine has yet to hoard its own cones;
that the hummingbird fits the flower;
that the grain doesn’t refuse the reaper;
that the winter never forgets the spring.

And, finally, that the big-brained dummy 
who does indeed forget everything, 
just remembered that he forgot it.
He’s asked a little birdie to remind him.
That bird is about to spill the beans.

	- Richard Schiffman