In slow secrecy, Electra allows the high-built towers to soak into her. Secure their anchor to the rock of the planet, tethered, they go only to the sky.
Clever to demand belief in the way they do and she isolates their vile success:
Belief demanded from those never shown another way,
(Their hustings are not of great excitement).
One Answer given,
One Answer received, perforce.
—I am an Answerist, I am greedy for many, says Electra.
The Answer has found a means to consume, much as any life will eat all smaller life
It has taken the light,
When a multitude of Answers could have their trial.
Not that the towers began to wave like grasses in a meadow, prior to their fall,
Still these city-dwellers trot, oblivious to their forehead number,
Incurious, content to make yesterday today
Not to create the world, since their God, their masters, their forebears have done it for them.
That I will have to confront, courageously, but I will I will, even
Knowing that they are lethal, with their answer so well supplied.
Mayakovsky is content with his diabolical shake-up:
—My work here is done,
And gives himself a metaphorical pat on the back.
—A black blazing Sun rises today, on a sky of vermilion, grabbing at the passegiati with fierce rays,
Neptune, or Poseidon, is bloodied in appearance,
Electra is ready to rant and roll, daring them to defend their God in all his inactivity,
Ready to give to them straight:
That a monoculture cannot prosper forever,
That they are derelict in their duty,
That they should be on the qui vive, that acrid should be their enquiry,
It’s not as if things are so good round here.
But he’ll leave her to evolve something of her own.