Semantic drift leaves you stuck mid-thought
on the slippery slope of your backstory
with corners folded . . .
In the last scene you redact emptiness
on the deck of a steamship
ferrying steampunkers
to an island of breakdown lanes
echoing the cacophony for multiple voices
when midnight matters little . . .
Particulates contaminate the River Styx
with the pushback taking on a life of its own . . .
Soon a moment of silence . . . Have you AI'd? . . .
