but I have to smile
                                       The emptiness that was 
one fine day... 
                                         A uranium-brimmed scree 
insubstantial to dawn ‘disappeared’ 
into the leg o’mutton of oblivion : 
Voices in funnels, a trickle down of their futurity, 
Dropping your sights — now rising  
— the fastest way to earn points. And yet 
We’re surrounded,
I write poems for progeny  
(if not protégés)...