Barricade the door to all the decades doused in flame.
Gather all the exiles from war’s path.
Defer the grand new plague arising.
Plastic are our idols,
and oil-soaked our praise.
Here, drowned, doomed Atlantis,
here a monument of bone.
Immolate the past’s old modes, ages lost to dreams.
Encase all the shrines in glass, silver rivets on the seams.
Concrete are our new gods,
and money-smeared our songs.
Here, arches of tumbled Rome,
here echoes in great marble halls.