Observations of the Isolationists

Performance enhanced bibliographies,
Two-stepped caricatures of time,
The ironies of passersby.

I left my right hand,
Buried in the sand,

Could not release
The trumpet blast,
Or choreographed
Eschatological riff-raff.

Diamonds imbued with
The reflective popularity
Of superstars; whose names
Are written on contemplative waters.

Push past the recyclable contours
Of the shoreman’s coast,
To keep informed of your own
Destination in the murk.

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