The Marketplace

These fears are very real.
God's face is locked in an eternal scowl
And the stadium is filled with nervous laughter.
We have entered the golden age of mechanics
So that engines can run on whiskey and cigar smoke.
Sinking into the eddy without a life vest
As the magician's knees buckle
And the birds sing hallelujah,
I remain in my bedroom where it's safe.
The viceroy's testimony has indicated
That I am to be assassinated,
And what better locale than where I am uncomfortable and lost?
No, I will not venture out.
There is a precarious line drawn in the crimson sand
That I refuse to cross anymore,
Preferring to live instead immersed in an eclectic blend
Of fact and fiction.
Fortunately for the historians,
The fall of the empire was meticulously recorded
In fountain pen memoranda
Sent from mountaintop to mountaintop.
The bloody kiss of death will come in good time,
But for now I stay home
With the dusty relics of eons past to keep me company.