X Jesus Y comma zones

[tess marek]

X of Jesus
Y comma zones
This world is none too wide for Thee
Not when we have the rocket of rockets 
And not when we have TV
Not when we have life support
And not in Slone-Kettering

X of Jesus
Y comma zones
This world is none  too wide for Thee
Melting wax under Byzantium's sun
A dying Animal sails
There is a time for a Son to die
Engineering eventually fails

We watched the New Year coming in around the world,
the mass hysteria of no significance that was the
millennial New Year's Eve celebration. Brilliance
flaring across the time zones, and non ignited by Bin
Laden. Light whirling over nighttime London more
spectacular than anything since the splendors of
colored smoke billowed up from the Blitz. And the
Eiffel Tower shooting fire, a facsimile flame-throwing
weapon such as Wernher von Braun might have designed
for Hitler's annihilating arsenal-the historical
missile of missiles, the rocket of rockets, the bomb
of bombs, with ancient Paris the launching pad and the
whole of humanity the target. All evening long, on
networks everywhere, the mockery of the Armageddon
that we'd been awaiting in our backyard shelters since
August 6, 1945. How could it not happen? Even on that
very night, people anticipating the worst as though
the evening were one long air-raid drill. The wait for
the chain of horrendous Hiroshimas to link in
synchronized destruction the abiding civilizations of
the world. It's now or never. And it never came. 
	Maybe that what everyone was celebrating-that it
hadn't come, never came, that the disaster of the end
will now never arrive. All the disorder is controlled
disorder punctuated with intervals to sell
automobiles. TV doing what it does best: the triumph
of trivialization over tragedy. 


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