The sky was becoming foggy
But certain names were becoming luminous -
Politicians and literati
Were sizzling steaks.
The gentle ones were bleating
The fat one's bellowed
The thin ones screaming
They were all tender and juicy.
The ether crackled with messages -
A host of commonplaces were transmitted
To the end of the world at the speed of light:
Steak for sale! Good blood-red steak!
He looked at me with the eyes of a stranger.
A stranger with a fork
was stumbling over what he had just created:
The locomotive of thought had derailed.
Spilling everywhere burning
Twisted rubble of the intelligible.
And they all ran to the hot ashes
of Culture
To make the perfect steak
--David Stokes
