Power to the Poet

There is a moment of rage -- a decadent spirit Whooshes down a narrow path  in a strange land where gospels echo from mountain to mountain. The river rumbles in the valley, where mudsuckers and bullheads swim, where bottom feeders' hallowed words gurgle  under a polemic sheen, where Aristotle's sun reflects its infinite bursts, where ancient wisdom breaks on the infallible and the grotesque. O  the river rumbles in the valley, where clay buries the up-swell of the world, where ancient stones hide mysteries, unholy verbiage of the damned. In the sediment, mudsuckers and bullheads procure the ageless words  of false prophets, and the river rumbles — O  ye,  bottom feeders! The river rumbles in the valley __