artificial artifices

there is a kind of ease

in deception,

a simplicity

in running

from the truth

while the world

cranes its neck

to peer into the windows

of other universes,

false gods traced

in the outline

of the stars.

lying

is the most natural thing

in the world.

the only constant

in the shifting cosmos.

artificial artifacts

crafted from

arthritic hands,

twisted with age and knowledge.

what exactly makes

an artifact

real?

is it the age? the medium?

the status of its owner?

the scale?

artifacts are just another construct

in the pantheon of the past,

built by the modern gods

to profit from history,

mold it to their liking,

and destroy what

doesn't fit.

we are swimming

in artifices,

and we claim

that truth

is in our nature,

but that in itself

is a lie.