the attack on rue plumet

***

it occurs to me every day, these past few in particular,
the worrisome nature of the relationship between disquiet and prescience-
it is a headache pounding with stone fists against my cranial terrarium,

a three-day exercise in ache and expectation:

when's it gonna end? when we gonna live?/
something's gonna happen or else something's gonna give
(it'll come/it'll come/it'll come/it'll come/it'll come/it'll come)

i am a horse, a dog, a cat gone mad the hours instant before the earthquake that shook the year of my birth.  something is not to remain much the same any longer.  so says she, she so soothsays, forsooth and foresakes. do i contrive this?  is this an adorned moment of restlessness only?  isn't it something far less sybilline? but!, i cannot shake the Richter scale enough to forewarn of what will change, scalding as throbbing tectonic plates that moan in Titan heat.  things cannot just stay the way they are! there is impetus! there is a demand that will not be repulsed!  SOMETHING, IS GOING, TO MOVE!

with all the anger in the land, how long before the judgment day?
before we cut the fat ones down to size, before the barricades arise-

something 

is about to

***