After the fugue state clears,

after this whole shitshow has been shitshown,

after the stuffed shirts have become unstuffed and the talking heads have found their bodies,

after the Beltway brainchildren have turned back into terrestrial primates,

after the Pentagon has been pierced by the Roman lance and bled out F-22s and Reaper drones,

after our headless corporate gods have been cast into the sea screaming "I'M MELTING! MELLLTING!!!",

after Buddha Godzillas his way across our world,

Earth will heave a deep sigh of relief,

and we will truly hear the birdsongs

for the very first time.

The birdsongs like the full moon's light hitting your eyes after orgasm.

The birdsongs like the gentle tickle of a sleeping lover's breath on your skin.

The birdsongs soaring out of the silence like the opening notes of Sweet Child O' Mine,

born of silence and received by silence, met by the baby's smile of silence,

emerging in complete human stillness

for the very first time.

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Reading by Tim Foley.