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When you dump the excrement
of the new age,
what sign will withstand
ten thousand years
of warning?
I will kill you
if you stroll
on my concrete capped atoll
buzzing softly,
in blue Pacific.

Perhaps not immediately,
but generations
of your children
will have
too many arms,
cleft hearts,
bone marrow
glowing strangely,
in bitter nights.

Ten thousand years,
half life of Entiwok,
strange hummings
from the ground,
a new language,
atomic priesthood,
millenniums of agony,
learning new rituals,
radiation pouring
from violet crested hills.

How can we warn you?
the children of eons
yet to come,
forbidden relicts,
do not touch
ancient blast raped steel,
or walk upon the shiny sills
of melted streets.

Laughing dolphins
on the edge of burnt seas,
patiently teaching you
the new words,
beginning at Stonehenge,
winding down through history
until that moment
when pillars of fire
lit your nurseries
through the concrete walls.

A new religion,
skull and crossbones
etched a mile wide
upon the altars
of the land,
sacred places,
do not enter,
passed on
by word of mouth
for ten thousand years.

. John A. Moller
Whiskey Two Company RNZIR


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