Humpty-Dumped

The conversation went around like the two pizzas on the table, from strategies for survival under a monarchy to the day of the dead, pass the prosecco, while in my head I drifted to the image of a golem, made from debris and clay to the 1955 song, People say a man is made out of mud / A poor man’s made out of muscle and blood and from there I went to the new Frankenstein movie…was he not a golem, first a protector then turned monstrous like some countries, pass the pepperoni, roaming the heartland written by eighteen-year-old Mary Shelley, fearing machines gone wild, made by us yet no longer of us, like AI, fed by humans to rock and roll like the pizza that ate Chicago or was it a tomato escaped from a BLT when this Frank/Golem/ Grokenstein rolls over the ballroom where the wing once stood adding to the carnage of our times mixed with the mushrooms of mother earth and the dead mingled with the undead hallowed to trick us to treat the stuffed hollow man, on the night of golden golem toilet seats (not on the menu), to Tuesday’s gathering in the piazzas where we owe our souls to the company store while billions turn to trills, bubbles famously burst and all the king’s horses couldn’t put Humpty’s heritage together again.