The human—us—so fragile, like

glass figurines (static) in an ornate glass

cabinet waiting for Thor’s hammer

to come…wait…wait…no, we can’t

be that…we are resilient, tough, stoic,

free—so hardy in the face of the smashing

wind that roars across this charging land

and goes where it will…like…like…fate—

who fucking knows one day to the next

who fucking knows and who cares…

hang on, I can hear the glass smashing

and the chaos spreading and then the

quiet doom…booming out like a low drum,

and the cabinet with its doors wide open

has nothing more to give but the thing itself…

and the gods are all crazy and the humans

exist in delusion, in lots of neat cabinets for

display…lots of glass with cracks and sharp 

edges, subject to the endless cycle of the 

shifting wind and the ancient lighting strike.