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e-page 4 of 'Poems of the Pagan Revolution'

e-page 4 of 'Poems of the Pagan Revolution'

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Published by David Seals
The continuation of the epic section of 'Poems', sub-titled WAR IN HEAVEN
The continuation of the epic section of 'Poems', sub-titled WAR IN HEAVEN

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Published by: David Seals on May 06, 2010
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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05/06/2010

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 Airplanes turned the American skies over on themselves, on a clear summer day in 2001for radios crystalline aboard jumbo jetsclearly heard in traffic control towershijackers, serial kidnappers of cities unwholewho didn't know how to fly any other way;transponding frequencies and radio transmissionsinexplicably garbled and misdirected to this dayso that neither the Controlled nor Controllingknew what or where the other's enemy lay.Apollo told Saturn, "Your goals accomplishedof War were by mine of Peace replaced."Sneering prejudice by piety massive Satanshook his head as usually contemptuousat his grandson's wayward and disobedience naive.Commercial jetliners routinely by the thousandstook off daily from the Lord's light Terminals,eliciting no responses unusually efficient from It,ingenious, Vulcanic mechanics and Capitalists.Boston and New York and Washington D.C.cities bustled routinely with criminal activitynormally, of automobiles and people crashingfitfully, smoothly, against each other day and nightuntil, without question, men and women diedunanswered mysteriously and unacceptably bereft:Eternal Termination universally bewitching.Satan said, "See, they don't give a damnif they're damned. It's God's inexorable Law of Nature."Airliners flew therefrom Its ineluctable lawsat the arguments of law over legal spaceover cities and nations unbounded by restraints judicial, prudent, or self-preservative, jurisdictional according to the finer points of war.Minute-by-minute Apollo would Zeos's point makethroughout that morning of September eleventh(according to the inaccurate clock of Time)to make Satan's point of It's own tragic flaw,if Aristotle was right. Evil would evil destroy,and Tragedy would be to the Epic inferior."Take the hijackers allegedly that morning, Sir,"swift-hawked Apollo taunted His giant Grand-Sire,"and let us take the legend back to the present tense.I think 'tis Space in Time's challenged, andin time the case proven against you."Invulnerable Evil snorted. Another million died.
 
Putrid reeks oozed unchecked from swamps.Worms crawled in the mud of rotten cadavers.Bottomless seas boiled in lifeless blackness.The Desert Djinni required of him no reply.That morning Apollo in a Carrier recaptured -one of his own made better in better days bygone -observed from his Deck at a stratospheric heightfar above the altitudes of cruising 757stheir plots and courses American conspiratorsand Al Qaeda kamikazes coordinated together in another of Satan's gleeful and Conflicts abhorred."How can you win?" It chortled. "I'dlike to play this. It's better than a Hollywood movie."Observing Apollo, Satan flew into action.Smoothly four Flights swerved fromtheir paths guided and reversed around at once,United and American Airlines making 180 turnsfrom the east coasts to the west and back eastin patterns Al Qaeda nor Mossad and CIAdidn't plot - surely the surest signs conspiracieshad gone off course, of course, among men,Apollo explained, the Planes crashing (like Roswell)in fields obscurely far from the Pentagon anddowntown Manhattan. Four hijackings and crasheswith 500 lost souls were supposed to be th'extentof the crime, carefully to horrors limited politics permissible to the traders in the lobbiesuptown, across town, in the corridors of power.Buildings were meant to collapse or be hitcataclysmically greater than hurricanesto withstand hurtling bombs from heavenhurtled, spirally like storms of galacticForce overpowerfully undisputed in the blueafter a calm night on a perfect Evening."You made die many more than I,"Satan admonished the Merlin who misguidedthe aircraft ungoverned by any governmentknown to men, covertly ungovernable men,Missileers they're called as if warriorshonorably commissioned. "No," was allthe merlin Apollo replied, exposing Apollostared unblinking into the Hypocrit's Eye.From stratospheric hindsight the gray jetsof Hell he veered off from their clever wayinto the offices of bankers and generals,stockbrokers and analysts, anything but
 
innocent, happy, hapless family men and womenflying on fire upside down from the Towersto explode in blood and terrifying boneon the streets of the Stock Market below;hundreds of stories thousands of bodies downerupting from limbs on engines that foughtfire, missiles of glass, sirens unclean,white smoke choking the city with pulverized fleshswirling with mountains of paper from desks,money in shreds like the arms and legsof chairs, lawyers, toilets, air-conditioning ductsand jet engines. Machine Peoples slaughteredalike each other and themselves unassisted by a god only monitoring from on hightheir own behavior. Only a Satan would blameanyone else for the skyscrapers of men."You've scraped them, all right," It accusedGod anyway, like a joke in the skyof a clown malicious in comedy's ugly eye,the Udjat Eye of Egypt or Sauronin a Middle Earth between light and dark where black and white interchangeably cried,"neutrality your claim of irresponsibility?You think by monitoring innocently crimesare absolved, committed by others and not you?You make it worse, pompous, pretentious Apollo by blaming me for blaming you, Boy."Prophetic Apollo somewhere did not answer  but as a detective of a Commission genocidalhe followed the airplanes missing a habeascorpus, forensic evidence in the unassailable factswhere they'd been shot down first in upstate New York, over Canada, Kentucky, and Pennsylvania;whole manifests of passengers disappearingin the firestorm of Cruise Missiles from F-16s;and like the victims of Mafioso "hits"eliminated from all records by acids and shovels,erased on "hard drives", buried in unknown graves.Tombstones are easily vandalized, removed,like so many names in the ovens of Auschwitz.People don't matter, as Matter, as form, to formlessspirits filing them away in warehouses bureaucratic, barren, empty, cavities where once buildings stood.They'd never cared themselves for genocide either  built on the same massacred ground, unholy soilof former Indians and other formless detritus

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