Tuesday, May 23, 2017

Simon Leake writes

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.
Image result for birdcage hiroko paintings

Birdcage --Hiroko Sakai

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