Youth needs its cyborg identity
tap the fingers, keys,
the mouse runs
each click a heaping of coal
burned, somewhere the ice cap shudders
the CRT glow
imposing on the body
every reality in monochrome
The rockets go up, you see
Are they acts? What if
if
they never came down?
Hung, sparklelike, webs in air
Is that system?
Does it demand
A fall?
Looking back
(the cyborg runs, headless)
the debris lies there,
smells of gunpowder
in the green-glow
Looking back, tapping,
For one last unfired
Thursday, March 9, 2017
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I wrote this poem years ago, when SEK was alive. I rejected it from self-publication then, but it means more to me now. I thought to put it here because this post by Adam Roberts reminded me of it.
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