Rastar Considers

Rastar, with furrowed brow, considers,
And, shuffling beneath his favoured tree, shoulders
A passing pontiff to the ground.
An aggression that triggers cosmic disorder;
The moon, ephemeral in daytime attire,
Escapes within the safety of transparency,
The sun, in terror, burps burning gases
To ignite what man has left
Of Amazonian forests,
God in dismay distributes a plague or two
To teach someone, somewhere a lesson
And as Zeus, whooping with joy
Hurls flaming thunderbolts in all directions,
Pandora,spreads her legs but fails to seduce
The sweet voice of hope to vacate his box.

Rastar climbs to the summit of Hopkins Mount
And, surveying, with increasing disgust
The turmoil surrounding his microcosm,
Gulps down a jar or two of dark ale,
And considers that there is nothing to consider.