Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The hedgehog cannot hear his father;
Medallions fall apart; krazy glue cannot hold;
Mere pepper spray is loosed upon the world,
The Blue-armed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of virgnity is enraged;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate weenery.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Milking is at hand.
The Second Milking! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Julay Julay
Troubles my sight: somewhere in the sands of Ruckersville
A shape with woman body and the head of a manchild,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant A-logs.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That four years of dry content
Were vexed to nightmare by a swinging D-cup,
And what rough cow, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Kiwi Farms to be born?