some wonder
if technology in this culture
was the first bloom
before the plant/prima died
and fell from the tree

in love with motion itself
impero leaps about
twisting and tunneling 
around my person

our problem is the future risk
of dependence on
machine decision making
even worse 
machine vs. our thinking
whatever that is 
in our skin deep simulation

where i enjoy an afternoon doing this
whose only necessity is light

language is the diversion 
not the truth
all you have 
is to decide
please

a mer ica
from the sea to her battlements
we rush like a mob
internalized comparted
sold in the past as film stained
with their brand, brittle to thought
and shielding the sun
in this dry tomb in the worship circle
of the builders in whose prison we find delight 
in its freedom and the flag
for the wind and children

prayers mumbled
in a millennia i will recover
after the metal grey
dark prison coma
to those children reaching
back through the wire
to parents connection blood
who need a filter, guidance
to the light within
and beyond from behind

ticketed visitors
entranced with the Set
its danger, the mysteries
we should leave any time
choose the line, fake the smile
in the light, the frame
before the seated ones
changing before the doors open

when we know
for all his exits halls and aways
he is still in love

all so meaningless
these vegetables in the grass
rowed and timed

yet for each I am
yet that is All
no lyric, media, culture
is a mechanic of meaning
so part of memory and eye
like the hoard back home

in an upholstered cave
so deep of earth
thinking rock thinking best
while we reckon the stars

is it our way
is it theirs
is a choice real

our time wavescope
the ear its hairs our lines
to the room inside
where silence should rain
then a single lamp to pull

who knew? 
am i so blessed
so damned
last of the naturals
before the exhaust of artifice

a wonder for all genera hence
hence being recorded

x generation 
without name
the all go rhythm
in the old equations
setup within set

last of the last pioneers
willing to die
just to move on

for what

what you call fate
i call script
if this is a program
  a computer, a circuit set it up
in a metal world

between galaxie(s)
  whose dreams are just as
contrived as ours

welcome back stranger
  music is a ladder
to the right
from whats left

forget your lines