The water was eating the land
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The air killing the stars
It was the end of the world
But God was on the Internet
Watching the events unfold
The new Galatea in her solitude
Stepped out of her clothes into the shower
While Pygmalion stroked a bit of stone
Until it warmed under his hands
Eyes blind to the fresh girl
Washed free from dust,
As she put a camera to herself
And reported for CNN.
The old men with purple stripes were noisy without words
When blood ran a stream through the senate floor
They stepped onto a higher ground.
But they poked theosophy
Out of passive bodies sitting in front of the TV
Marinating in their own sweaty fear:
It could've been me!
And glad it wasn't them-
Donated another gold leaf:
For God and the senate floor.
The conscious shape reality.