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.