MAMMONVILLE

Why am I continually drawn
to Mammonville?
Me,
a singer of clouds,
a baker of translucent
appetizers
and soul pastries?
Yet,
the manna of green
shadows
over my thoughts.
I see in the tinsel and glitzy charades
of vanity,
the affidavits of mental terraces
where
the mind sleeps
under prosperity’s umbrella
more as protection
from one’s conscience
than need.