yet unable to recognize this once native
land given to autos & vast machinery
obliterating the last poetic reckonings.
Here routine citizens drably huddle

around digital orbs of computer ports
seeking contact with galactic megabytes.
What keeps us properly anchored
to necessary deception shimmering

as planets once revolved overhead
to wise men singing?
Now we are adrift in silent spirits,
far from the land’s founding ideals

with lies passing for profundities,
& whoever hears truly the tolling hour
must drive alone over fey landscapes
beyond the shadow of fallen stars.

– Peter Magliocco