One doesn’t extinct ones’ self without taking youdown the same foxhole,the one where it’s crowded with mirrors.Sleep is a house of dreams. You comerunning to close the curtains in …
One doesn’t extinct ones’ self without taking you
down the same foxhole,
the one where it’s crowded with mirrors.
Sleep is a house of dreams. You come
running to close the curtains in expectation;
the new day exercising its limits
in rainbow-touched bubbles
wafting from the wand you’ve been
puffing wishes through.
This you was made for you and me.
Jellyfish and machine-man look,
looking so different. Neurons and digits
meld in one evolution. How we learned
to love the planet
when she was dying,
was our way of saying goodbye
to the dollar.
This egg-shaped earth wobbles
on its slow turning axis,
winding down our flea-jumping
hopes to save ourselves by pioneering.
Other landfalls beckon our renewal,
horizons met with cybernetic uncertainties,
sure as any footing anywhere. Golden
as stardust, we shakeout the mat
of a new morning and refresh
Here. Hold my watch. It is made