that there’s a car in space
but a dummy in the front seat
that everyone’s equal
but no one is responsible
we carry wands called cellphones
to fix our first-world problems
they thought, let us
climb that, ride that,
build that, break that,
surf that, sail that, fly away,
find new lands, foul them up,
fix them in our image
and now you’re drawing a blank
Remember the long-gone glimmer of weekends,
whittling ourselves into glamour girls,
un-walk-able shoes, un-dance-able songs,
the disappointment that lives
on the other side of a night out?
In my rush, I took the wrong bus.
In my fatigue, I didn’t get off.
I could’ve sworn the scrolling sign said North,
but the bus headed East at 12:21.
Perhaps we see what we want to see, a palindrome.
Perhaps the universe branched, part of me took the straight
and my double took the detour. No one’s alarmed,
we aren’t hijacked, I took the wrong bus…
I’ve been this way before…
three years ago, looking for open mic night
— found my classmate four beers into his teddy-bear-hobo routine,
three years before that, looking for a book signing,
— asked some guy standing outside, “Is this the line for _________?”
His mouth said no, but his eyes said something else.
The pause was full of possibility.
What does it mean that when I get lost, I go East,
that I set out for book-signings and end up at bars,
And the boys that set me straight
look like sad, drunken saviors?
It cuts to give;
it costs to nurture.
We seek comfort in a GOD;
might IT seek comfort in us?
Might IT be realizing itself,
as we realize ourselves,
as our robots will realize themselves,
in an infinite realization—
the bodies different;
the search identical.
I drive roads
paved by men.
How to make it home
if home is where no man would go?
Can you call back
you even knew
there was a war.