Tuesday, March 21, 2006

a stab in the dark at science fiction

Mighty humming digital insects
spotlight eyes blinking
in every direction

There’s no retire in this land
bones pushed into vacuumed dust
recycled for energy fertilizer
no waste
no one lost
in every direction

outlaw pockets of vintage culture
buried in dirt rings
beneath the steel streets
still surface and ignite gas-mask skies
with showers of metallic fury

in every direction

They never officially banded the books
the ash just settled over them
and people stopped reading
who would want the bother anyhow
when there’s so much wonderful work left
so much still to build
a new erection
in every direction

machines only produce
abrasive faces
and ridged razors
for etching out the clouds
with glorious smoke stack
in every direction

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