CHATTERING CLASSES

I refuse to lift my glass
to the chattering classes
who proclaim the news
as art to mankind's masses,

Whether it's war or peace
with a culture of my own
my mind does not increase
by one sculpture or stone

It is though logic and loss
that we gain and refine
as in a dialectic and cross
that our pain is benign,

To kiss with warm lips
soaked with tears
is not to miss the storm
of an Apocalypse of years.