Apotheosis of praxis
was the label that enclosed
the toiling masses with
five foot prongs which held
and stood in bars. The treadmill
had spun faster and faster,
shooting competing metaphors
off the track. In China a young mother
used a Greenpeace t-shirt as a diaper
to contain her child’s diarrhea
contracted from the ancient Huai River’s
modern waters. Much more was at stake
here than health.
Artists, tree-huggers, and
dreamers of all variety
were rounded into
corners and swept under
rugs with red men
and other rebel factions. The sky
wept new lakes which were promptly
drained and paved with sprawls
of soft black tar. Much more was at stake here than soul.
In the end the educators
had needed new lessons, all those
bulbous craniums burning with agency
lighting other candles from their flames
had demanded dousing. Re-edification
synonyms sent shivers down the cold dead spines of Max, Emuile, and Karl. Much more was at stake
here than knowledge.

Leagues of light choked
in the broiling clouds of sot
reaching slowly for horizons on the day
we set our minds to meet
the makers of tomorrow. Trudging
through the high-rise sludge of the urban
environment in suits and wallets
constantly buying our way
closer to the monolith.
Our dollars propelled us to the center
of the great quotidian beast, and we held
our breath in shriveled lungs awaiting
an enlightenment. The door
thrown open we saw;
it stood, spinning in a circular fashion, always
pumping-pumping-pumping-pumping…

Tears branched down our cheeks
as in the presence
of such well oiled gears
we understood.