the angel anarchica

as black stars align
she ascends from
the cold war ether
on riot wings
into a decadent age
prepared for her
like a five-star table
complete with swan napkin
and free speech salad fork

at night
after the dead world
has turned off its corporate lights,
she wanders dim light streets
where today's Tschaikovskys wander...
in intricate drug "dazes,"
finding decreasingly forbidden lovers,
or simply taking bohemian quiet

there will be happenings,
paintings and symphonies,
feasts and famines,
rumors of nuclear wars
and quite possibly nuclear wars

she blesses the corruption
that rots the edifice
so the progress can slip in