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Scrambled Stealths

At seventy-two, me and the cat
an ongoing fact, a rhyming dance
in the rain

Help is on the way,
but remedies are brutal

Ideas are scrambled stealths,
soon sweeping through the labyrints
of consciousness,
lit by synapsic searchlights
'round a place in space,
halted in the frontal lobes

God flees, stooping,
out over the ocean
with the human genome in a thimble,
his hunched back a thundercloud,
his unintelligible speech thunderclaps

The frogs gather at the pond

The UN General Assembly
forms a suicide pact

The Voyagers look back,
riding the ray of awaaaay,
like indians on horseback
'cross the plains

The human race, indigenous,
on the brink, soon extinct

Were we really?

Fri vers (Fri form) av Ingvar Loco Nordin VIP
Läst 8 gånger
Publicerad 2021-09-14 10:08

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