WHAT AFTER LAUGHTER?

I had a conversation about idols today.
Not exclusively idols, but the slanty way
they creep and follow in their various shapes.
I guess this is kind of a poem, but not
in the traditional sense of a poem; I don't care.
Maybe writing has been an idol to me--and I confessed it had
on the phone today--which explains why I let neglect set in, and
I hadn't written. Or that may not be it, but an excuse--for
I've needed to excuse my choices lately,
when lately refers to the last 23 years. Excuses themselves
resemble idols. Rather, disguise idols?
Picture a sculpture now as the idol of old, where the idol of today
in the Today of America flits and flees hard-grasped imagination.
Slung over the sculpture, a scarf, a hat, a moustache for laughs.
I laugh, but maybe I shouldn't anymore:
this is especially real when I pretend it's not.