Judson Michael Agla

UNDER THE RAVENS’ WATCH

The streets are vacant; only the dead walk this eternal night. Packs of hounds are hunting and educating themselves from horribly written books and scattered coupons that blow through the alleyways.

Corpses are piling up in community parks and the rats have come together, massing and breeding at unbelievable rates, forming unions and delegating sections of the city. The black rain never seems to run dry.

Why has the daylight left us? Is this some sort of divine insurrection?

Long ago, traveling in Mexico after the tourist season, the ocean started to throw up all of its natural and man-made garbage onto the beach, the quantity of shit covered everything like a blanket, and the stench was fucking unbearable. I asked a friend “what in all fuck was happening?” He simply replied, “the ocean is cleaning itself.” Apparently it happened every year around the same time.

I wonder, in these troubled times, if the earth isn’t cleaning itself of us. We’ve had a good run at it, but we upset the balance, and for all intents and purposes we’ve ripped the living shit out of it.

We seem to forget that we’re only guests, and under the ravens’ watch. 

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