Seeds of night spring forth

evil tendrils but magic 

hides in the dawn light 

Liars' lairs once bathed 

in darkness now spotlighted 

still disguise the truth 

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