The manifesto ministers to millions, and who is it stands
To gain—national pride and glory—whom the peoples’ folly,
Whom the witness in the valley of coincidence, the volley
Of inventions by the score, the copper’s light wires’ strands
That span the globe uniting minions yet dividing worlds beyond
The surfaces of forest meadows, lakes, and oceans,
Highest cliffs and even now bellows from the Holy Mountain? Notions
In the cascade from the peaks to every sinkhole are the bonds,
Investments, hedge funds, the ponzis mounted to deflect the future’s
Sure surprise: “Please,” he says, “no more soup!” Too alkaline the innuendo,
Too acidic the gain, too little left to sustain the crescendo
Between what’s desired and what cannot be contained by cultures
Festering in the streets and buried bayous of the brokerage: virtual powers.
Take umbrage, my friend, in the security of the syllogism while fear and profit
induce the latest Book of Hours.