Welcome to the Lounge

on thin splinters of sacrosanct shared experiences,
the trolls dangle their bait, and, we, take a bite,
from shame, or fear, rather than howl for humanity
shamed by bored schadenfreudists' misuse of tragic

no one wants to be tagged for tipping a sacred cow,
no matter the cow's a cheap paper cut-out standing
in cardboard fields spray-painted with green grass:
a stage-set built by a very lonely audience of one

yet, nothing's offered here, on our collectivity's
altar, that's not shared within us, to some degree,
even if it exists only as a poltergeist in fantasy,
or, will-o-wisp flitting in memories' dismal swamp

my revulsion looks in a mirror, and sees revulsion
looking back with an accusing, leering, evil smile