Flocking and gawking at the piece of clay
We excavate profound thoughts like toothpaste
Dredged up from an empty tube. Time, today,
Yesterday. Who shall squint at us to taste
Such pseudo-connections? These chicken-cubes
That promise substance, then leave us shadows,
Must be adored.
So we smile, we sigh, we click and we post
Rapture’s phantom wrestled into long words,
Spin this emperor new clothes, bid the ghost
Of our longing split into butcher-birds
And hunt scoffers.
