Here in the Eye of Blue Televisions

Here in the eye of blue televisions,
here in the shade of satellites,

we winter in the outer dark

and cast our nets

into an ocean of stars.

We wait for a signal.

We long for a sign to guide us,

a word, a beam of light that will render us

sanctified and whole.

We cling to scraps of paper in skyscrapers.

(The world is ruled by admen

and conjurers, lobbyists and salesmen.)

The dead live among us.

There they stand,

those that we once turned away,

long hidden in the folds of time,

now transformed, 
made new again,

born out of invisible waves,

crashing on an invisible shore.

Here in the eye of blue televisions,
here in the shade of satellites,

we winter in the outer dark

and cast our nets

into an ocean of stars.