Sparring suits, dress for success ties in highly researched color schemes

jockey for position, their bumble-shuffle, slip ‘n slide warehouse of prefab ideas,

rehashed for our viewing amusement.

It’s the already dead, trite and spew, flag me down moments

poorly disguised as having teeth for any meal

other than years of limo rides and cigar smoke backrooms

to further carve up the world into golf course size chunks.

Good places for more deals.

You fill out these dancing pixels, the scene behind the scene, seen by all and no one.

What is real, what is fabrication? What is wise, what is insulation?

Promises, like hearts, are made to be broken –

forged in the heat of passions lost, loves unrequited, dreams dashed.

* * *

Still there lives “the dearest freshness deep down things” if Hopkins has his way.

I’m with him.

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