We try a different watch.
We are all critics 
exchanging insight

into our Nature Morte
where things are made
by an army of one.

And so we retract
from the world of the living
into made objects.

Mind you,
some spectacular art
is brought to us

on an accented smile,
and right to our hideout,

a pharaoh’s tomb
filled with gadgets, stashed food,
intricate cameras

worthless in a few years,
just like his ceremonial barge
was in a fighting lane.

We imagine a future
where we go for a just cause
if it could be found.

We draw lots to spar
with the devil all night
in our expensive garb

then sleep from dawn
until the sun is too hot
and his light a blight.

We are productive
as we click away
under the ground.