We're bored like monks
in the margins
of ancient scripture.
We want to leave behind lazy hieroglyphs
and accidental red herrings
feigning illumination
rendered by the deviousness of time
in its enclave,
running a brush of flaky gold paint
over delicate decadence
and sprinkling dust like a fairy--
we are to believe it is all
some ancient treasure.
We prance in the ether of the material world
in junkyards where we sift through the wreckage
coddling memories like drying uteruses,
realizing our generation will not leave behind artifacts
worthy of nostalgia's ensconcing embrace.
With that realization we weep and
We continue to dig.