And the swaggering salesman
slipped into the space
left vacant by the flight of heroes,
the crippled king, and the dying god.

Where are Nietzsche and Sartre
and Beckett now
to put their spin on this absurdity
to open up another sucking hole
with an anxious burst of nothing?
Where is Plato
to put his well-formed finger
in the failing dam of ideology?
Where is Martin Luther
to hammer out reform?
Where is art or religion or philosophy?

Tell me. Are we, alone, responsible
for our purchase
on this over-crowded rock?


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