THE MODERN INDIVIDUAL AS ANCIENT MONOLITH

Sometimes it will be just a title

that gets us there, other times memories

will push us towards the edge. What kingdoms they dredge 

up next depend like whims of fancy

hung spider-like on the limbs of fragile trees.

One day it could be the radio waves or something else emerging 

from the darkness at the back of the shelf. 

Ran up five flights opposite an old remembered house.

Woke confused from a morning nap with 

a head like a washing machine heart racing to figure

out, how can we be monoliths inside this culture?

What grace can we claim back from the vultures tearing at our flesh?

Up and open to ashes, we slip away into vague horizons

that require neat replicas of our full on-line persistence.