What a wondrous time to be
Sapped, by the luxury
Of our sweetened present

How easy it is to slide
Into solace
To burrow with content
In the daily roles we play

Blissfully mute
We deal in plastic
Dulled by the glow
Of the endless scroll

What a wondrous time to be
Fully clothed
In newsroom fury

In their heartless drone
And deathly verse
Cavalcades, casings and all

Cold and stagnant
We draw our fortunate breath
To the frantic
Pulse of millennia

What a wondrous time to be
Marooned to the failings
Of far-ago man