The World on Fire (Revision)

                                          there's the Holy Ghost in a tree,                                           near that black cat on the thick branch.                                           there's that name that makes things tingle,                                           like a Russian princess, threaded                                           like a camel through the eye of a needle.                                           where your treasure is your heart will never go.                                            who burned my parables, who spilled the milk out of the kitten's dish?                                           every revolution is staged. when did actors become the people?                                           when the littlest thing, when putting out the garbage                                           finds a hunched back silhouette by appointment,                                           and going out for a smoke meets a hazard of moonlight,                                           then you know that something needs to be done.                                           you know it, the Cheshire Cat knows it,                                           the rabbits jump like they heard it.                                            but where are the hands and the pens and the swords to do it?