There's an Apocalyptic feeling in the air, but not exactly like Revelations.

On the hill the mad sculptress
welded wind chimes
in the rusted steel
wreckage of her back yard,
and a weird harmony began.

Someone complained;
the local media came,
and the neighbors testified,
some non-committal--
some annoyed--
some simply pleased
to be on TV.

But no one who hung around
for even a little while
could escape the old
hackles-rise some call
Religion.

Those who had nothing to loose
came first. They received
visitations, cures.
They pitched tents and stayed.
Then, pilgrims appeared,
some from as far off
as California.

To psychologists it was no
very great surprise
when there was a mass sighting
by a crowd of five hundred.
Oddly, the chimes had begun
to play nothing but the opening
bars of “Purple Haze” by the
late, great Jimi Hendrix.
Believers swayed,
wept, and danced.

The police showed up
to contain the situation
and the militia,
and shortly thereafter
came the bloody epiphany
of the first martyrs.

2012 approaches.
Although this is only as real
as the chalk gods carved by
ancient Britons into
their sacred green sod—
still
we are all
so ripe
for a giant’s coming.