Ward
The treeless
root of a life
in
functional blank spaces
becomes an
engine to be
taken apart
and remade
by the
alchemy of pharmacists
and oracles
of consultant seers.
I’m the
idiot among the natives
observing
magic performed
by the
shamans of a God
beyond good
and evil.
I must not
wait, despondent,
but play my
part in these
accelerated
narratives
and move
without question
but every
advance sprouts
canopies of
possibilities
and I drown
in the terabytes.
A songbird
in a darkened cage
will only
sing more beautifully.
Birdcage --Hiroko Sakai
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