On the Evening of the Rapture (predicted for September 11, 1988)
The hour is come; to bed we go who shall not arise, not tonight at any rate-- with the fundamentalized. There's no good news for the dead and the Judgment Day is late.
The hour is come, again; and days dissimilar in their penultimate hour all reach toward a common end: the holy solar power bows its head to earth.
In the morning we will wake and from our single beds arise like Lazarus disinterred-- wiping the sleep from our eyes we'll give our souls a shake and walk into a world ablur.
So pardon now if we pray to our dear dead Father out of the old neurosis: let Christ keep his holiday, tell the Spirit not to bother-- until we can like cousins kiss.
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