I am a social golem,
A construct of the communal.
I am a hitchhiker on the shoulder
Of a mystic freeway snaking
It’s way through cities of illusion.
I am a carton of coalesced thought,
An artifice assembled of what’s come before.
I am a parade of packaging, racked and stacked
In columns and rows of cubic conformity
To appear uniform from every observable angle.
I am silent in shame from this gallery
Of paintings portraying other’s sins.
I wander in the wasteland of what was,
Trying to seek balance for what should be
With the selfish comfort of what was lost.