Underground caves of calloused consciousness
welcome the peering eyes of Future.
Death has not finished
its consumption of the militant consumer.
The erosion of apathy—bones
resists nature and its work.
These slothful skeletons
put up their ironic fight
against a cracked mirror.
wrapped in strips of clay—human flesh,
the light bulb,
reflects a warm ray of light
upon the cold carcass.
A transparent body concealed in trash
houses the virgin filament.
The bones’ only usefulness
occurred with its encounter with Future.