The great phallus
Rises out of the steaming core
The dirty humbled masses
Shuffle to their feet 

Dip into their meager reserves
To give a muffled yell of approval
Not knowing

Or for
They scream their approval
The meaning of their existence

The phallus of course
Is fallace  
Totally fallacious
A total fallacy ~

He places the two steaming ceramic cups on the table
Her voice is barely audible
“Thank you”
He pauses in the dim morning light

His voice is the color of dry faded oak
“You can go if you want...”
The words hang in the air
She does not look up

Her voice now
Even softer than before
Slowly rises
Effortlessly pushing his aside

“I do not want to go”
Only silence
Steam from the cups

Carrying hints
Of distant lands
And faraway places

Before disappearing
Without weight
Without a sound
Into eternity