When we are converted, digitally
Into sideshow, rigidly
And our pain becomes us, beautiful
And nothing is left us, but rueful
Then I tell you, my dear
That disaster: it creeps near.
For our society, pious
Out of piety, jealous
Does envy too much, poorly
The poverty, richly:
That awful dreadful, undeserving
Unable to cast aside, the sideshow.
And so its time draws a sail, tacking
Forth and back, as sack
Borne on burdened soul, rolling
In a life of unsortings, multitudinous
Or maybe, passively:
That’s mutinous, and just as just.
And just as just ever was, only
Or indeed wasn’t, fierce:
Like pastry of change, true
A crescent moon, tragic
If only am magic, just saying
As finally I do goodbye … you.