In the Nature of Next

Whenever there is a real
Prophecy, it won’t involve
Any actual prophet.

A true prophecy isn’t
Anything to do with you.
It’s for the dirt, from the dirt.

But you do love prediction.
It’s the only power you have
Beyond your own flesh and bone,

And although all lives try it,
Survive or perish by it,
You may have been the first beasts

To have made such art of it.
You can even lie with it.
But however much you wish,

Prediction’s no prophecy,
And no prophecy predicts.
Between fate and statistics,

Something churns its way through dirt,
A forecast not for what’s next
But in the nature of next.