A dusty coarseness of light
Irritates the eye; as the ugly strokes
The artist curves, irritate the soul.
Each pinched face drawn to task;
How fraught this muddied thread
Of hollow stares, how repulsive the poor?
See root crops commanding light, as
Angels might, in some Italian piece.
Gold earthen nuggets from a wretched life.
The matriarch; sullen in mammon
Condemning earth’s riches with
Rheumatoid authority. Her abject brood
Exposing wanton glory, only the ghostly
Child shines in abstract obscurity. Pity our
weasel faced ancestors
abused by replication and the onset
of early madness.