Novus Ordo Secolrum

The peacock exploded on New Year's Day.
It was like Hiroshima, like Nagasaki:
Exhilarating, cold—like a perfect crime
planned without passion.

It was Pride going before the fallout,
ignorant of the consequences—
talons shuffling on asphalt through withered leaves.

I looked up and saw you coming in the cloud,
your tiny pointed head peeking out,
the blue incandescence shrouding the rest of you.

We expected all the colors of the rainbow.
We expected diversity.
We expected to justify the ways of Man to God.
But it wasn't salvation we got—
Turns out we didn't know what we were praying for.

What we got was Oneness,
obliterating everything we dreamed of,
making us all unrecognizable—
mutated, twisted, grotesque beasts
toting Geiger counters into the Apocalypse.