A better place

Holding up
the signs,
colorful and demanding,
we resist:
all the evils
and inconveniences
and misleading subtleties
of the world
recede.
And beside ourselves,
unveiled even,
and often,
and swirling until we don't even know
where we are in the haze
of morning.
I wanted more, you know.
Directness, at this hour,
if you can believe that,
or anything still.
Tonight's not the night.
It's acceptance in all it's ritual,
Latin rite and four sided and
constant.
And then there is change
in all its fury
and ambition.
Imagine if you will.
And there was imagery
and memory and we were somewhere
and those things are lost
in the syntax and transmission
and there is nothing
on the screen.
We've, of course,
gone beyond,
a false modernity,
post-itself,
guiding us into our failures again,
into something we are not
when we are not even one
beyond