You want to fix yourself into that event
With an image of the volcano, or street killing,
Or the centaur dancing, or the unicorn
Piercing balloons over a pond with a fountain
Shaped like an oak tree from the undiscovered torts
That have scattered through office blocks and suburban homes,
And which may be uncovered one day
And be ripped from the sculpted foliage, becoming fact,
Causing this accumulation of lies to fall like leaves
Into the water below—and the unicorn to leap
Into fiction while you
Will be fixed in time to an image of crime,
Or joy, or wonder, or a unicorn,
As a commitment for life on the Internet
Repeated, retweeted,
But forever with your back to it.
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