The View From Atop Babel

An imagined history

is all I have of you now.

Where love once was

now

nothing.

The deliberate posing

of typed characters

jux

taposed

against one another

and

the space between

one

and

the other.

Rules Are Suggestions For Those Without Imaginations.

THIS

Tripping over ourselves

on the way to each other

we become ants in amber

as we attempt to transcend

the confines of our lives.

Like eroding rock

we too wear down.

Fleeting thoughts and actions

like when the mind/body

is in the throes of an interminable

ingestion of godly smoke and

intoxicating libations spilling

down gullets in an attempt to stave off

the inevitable return to a former sanity.

Invisible cages everywhere

and nowhere at all.

Screens flash so brightly we become blind

to each other, to our deeper needs.

Living is now an exercise in endless narcissism

to sate the primordial predatory state of mating.

We have bigger problems now than just

our selfish needs but those are the only ones that count.

Voyeurism is the new fashion accessary for those in need

of a quick fix of fickle fluctuation.

Instant gratification is our new standard for masturbation

for body and soul, it is a gratification without control.

Neuroses pound out from gray matter

bursting through skulls and skin

into a polluted stratosphere ready to return

to a much simpler time.

Great deeds are undone

by simple acts of greed.

We sit atop Babel

looking down below,

wondering where is

God above?