mantra review

The Tandava

Our world is ending now.
Those who expect
one massive explosion that
lifts them, saved, out of their
shoes and into the arms of
a hot muscled savior, do not
see it. I never thought the
end would be so constant,
so continuous, so utterly
devoid of finality. There is no
door to close on the courtroom
vortex while we rest down the hall.
The jury deliberates, but blood
shit and breath, the acting tribunal,
have exhaled the verdict for
now and all parties are bound.
I step outside in the rain,
watch the wheels of change
roll down the city street during
prime chaos hours, see
an addict dance between traffic,
recognize him as my own son,
blue-faced and covered in ash,
wave him down, cup his cold
wet cheeks in my hands, and
smiling at me, he whispers,
in the cycle, growth happens next.