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Midwives of horror, look to the sky at dawn

The external vortex encircling us

Hot whirling atoms split apart

Smoking dust, chaos, darkness

The process of transfiguring things into flames

The rocky law of condemnation

and double generation and death

Like a river afraid to reflect, longing to reach its end

Like men on a ship who walk in a direction

opposite the one in which the ship is going

The spill of accursed meridians, passing daily,

one upon the next

A single catastrophe piling wreckage upon wreckage

A pile of debris growing skyward

History delivered from the cloaca of time

Angelus Novus