Twenty-first century ciphers,
lashed to a mast
as the sirens sing.
Wax is melting
in the deepening heat.
Numb to all seductions,
let androids man the oars
and set the pace,
while we traipse
behind the hearse
of common sense.
Oh for the days of Denver's
bright Calypso.
One small step
to a saved whale.
Well, that ship has sailed,
bound for lotus eaters,
and all-you-can-eat crises,
spectacles and simulacra,
faux tears and candlelight vigils,
Polly-want-a-cracker politicos.
Like an injured Polyphemus,
armed with GPS,
we have lost our way,
and wonder
how long Penelope can hold on.
John Walter Taylor
© All rights reserved
30 August 2026
