The high-wire hums 

as the aerialist's feet 

slip into the void 

 Relics once holy 

from a dead religion now

sit in a museum 

Self-sabotage is

a favorite pastime for those 

who strive for permanence 

From the top of the 

light pole the crow loudly cries 

"look at me, at me" 

Prognostications 

on the world's progress have been

grossly inflated 

The rended veil has 

been resown but the temple 

remains mere rubble 

The water line no 

longer where it used to be 

tells its own sad tale