Proleptic Proclomation Between Cosmic Shows

I.
Planetary orbs of fiercest flame extrude their crimson coronals
Into the monstrous ebon gloom that rings the disc of our stale sun
Now belching out the lunkish last slag from the final furnace,
Till sidereal detritus speeds to spoor the carmine congeries
Into refreshed and quite esurient abysses, worlds afar,
Within which hoary systems feast on fallen forebears
Till their own replacements breeze in with their hungers
And the swift way with the frail and the infirm.

And you know-yes you do-that killing
On a macrocosmic scale inaugurates new cycles;
I for one-as you will be the two & three-
Am glad of it-for there has been a muchness, a de trop
Of the accumulated fusty Everests of Demokratie's organic refuse,
O! the fungoid foulness of sick parturitions-
Tempus fugit, now; your smoking sewage
Merits nice discretion in the tenor
And a turbo-torqued transshipment in the vehicle to get garbage back unto-
The Dark God's waste bin (fearful is that womb of the unknown outre,
That seven-veiled mysterium upon whose naked contours
Even Isis dare not rest her coruscating gaze)
Wherein which all louche lemurs and vampiric freaks
Get just what they did want but O so rarely could express-
Oblivion's most quick quietus.

II.
But let us linger here a moment more,
Now that the goldfish tank hath been purloined, resign our minds
To savor those so sweetly-sickening irradiated drop of venom
That are the bye-bye e'er the end, the dread premonitory, first-shift
Deputies of our new world (which should be cool, perhaps;
That it will be quite cruel-well that I can assure you is "the case.")