their voices full with thick
indistinction their glasses fill
to the brim with wine and fog coughing
fits the handkerchief aptly a pocket
for your illnesses and your misplaced
ingestions when you're on stage
and you're sweating off sweet dreams those
where all is a single frame
amongst many, assembled in inconsistency

we think, we act and
therefore we render
useless, useless. every one.