Actual poem

Dear Internet users who may stumble upon this page with various degrees of intent,
Here is an actual poem I put some degree of thought into.

We who play games of dice on ancient squares
Hawks above a carrion world
At wit’s end know all things thus stand;
Who lives many is one round year’s image.

We have played games of doubling back
To follow strings, played them fast and well.
We’ve watched the here and there of mind
Converge and vanish in a voting urn.

Been mirrors of clean bronze to our own world.
Have watched projectors in dark rooms
Followed arts’ chronologies; graves first
Then slow fleshing out of such bones

Till we greet ourselves;
But we know no women.