Self-Portrait

Isolationism

 I looked at our art from an orbit afar
And saw vast maps of islands,
Some vast archipelagos with many men,
Most with little.
I saw isolation, but nowhere was it worse than the romantics.
The single islands with single inhabitants with single typewriters,
Lonely cranes with royal friends.
Nowhere was it worse than on the islands named "Self-Portait."
They corked their manuscripts and manifestos in the cliche bottles they're typed with,
Sealed a world of heartship into the sea
Such romantics...
And to know that the passions and antics
Are what keeps us drawn,
Keeps us drawing
Despite the islands
We have wrought
From the genesis of thought....
Words on whispers in the deadest night
"We must make our ships more sound!"
More sound! More sound!