I listen to my
into the dark of a sleep-still room.
Beneath the moon
a jet lands
a car sings by
and the leaves of a sapling applaud
a clever night breeze.
He’s speaking words of his own invention
a song of good and happy thoughts
He is what I was
His mother and I lie arm for arm
leg on leg, sharing
a long unguarded border
like shadows of each other
in suspended animation.
I ignore the cramp that bids me move
as long as I can.
Automation is inevitable. It will be used. What remains is to choose is HOW it will be used.
Mankind is the selector. The drone (or other emerging technology) is the effector.
and trying to herd these cats
that are my thoughts and feelings
in a stampede of surly turtles
out the door and off to a job
I am learning to loathe.
I slept only a few hours
and don’t remember any dreams;
just a vision
through a cracked porcelain mask and a plate of glass
and another cracked porcelain mask
of my own crystal tears.