Give the Ape his vice, electric device;
And watch him suckle at the Engine’s teet.
Abandoned child of Divine Person’s Thrice
Does see, no more himself, but Death in meat.
A phantom image lays in frame and clutched
By hands no more in contract with the thumb,
that lone appendage barks commands to such
who watch the face reflected turn to drum.
For with each click upon that mirrored man,
In vain, unknowing, strikes to gouge the eyes:
In darkness happ’ly seeks his own remand,
But if in sight the chains appear, not lies.
Yet think not of these things my little lamb,
You have so much to see on Instagram.