Don’t wander too far,
little one, from your
wee world of pocket-
phones, pursehounds,
and bug-eye glasses. Don’t
wander so far you cannot
return to worship your
flat plastic god in concrete
temples, standing high as
watch towers to keep, guard
against that old world walled
out until grass unknown
grows in the potholes
and the butterflower
loses its grey shell
into the unkind park
of men. Don’t leave the
black webstrands to
drive down deep
tracks of dusty shale,
and be swallowed alive.
For the world you have
bound, beaten, and
buggered to make that
pretty picture under
your MySpace giggles,
still sits on the edge
of your civilized world,
Hungry.