The good fortune express has come
Shedding its goods on someone
We saw on t.v. with that wry smile,
Pretending its not transitory,
And only fifteen minutes long.
In the middle of it all we climaxed,
Led protest against the approval
Of the imprisoned choir. Totalitarian
Rule was just whispering in the background
At this time. The nomenklatura were quietly
Pounding keypads in the outer recesses.
Microwaves chimed up and down the complex halls
As “fingers to the bone” became the standard
Work routine. What happened

To the sylvan yesteryears that maybe never were?
Much info rolls across our screens undigested now.
The frenzy gathers on the walls. “This
Too shall pass,” quotes some raven.
Quickly devouring fast food we purchase
A moment of time on this bar stool,
Listening to platitudes of the lonely hearts.

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