Time, a tracing line of barely shifting signs,
lead me there, outside.
[Ghost:
You're kidding yourself,
You're kidding yourself.
This time's going to eat you alive.
Last one out hit the lights.]
I have seen the future.
The future is white girls with Jamaican features,
listening no more to idol preachers,
kicking back on Martian beaches.
Entropy is important.
It forces us to rebuild.
So I will walk into the night,
and lay me down with the pines,
and savour this very last moment
before my body 'comes the earth
for one hundred years...
[Ghost:
You're kidding yourself.
This space to think will be your end.
Last one out hit the lights.]
I have seen the future.
The future is white girls with Jamaican features,
listening no more to idol preachers,
kicking back on Martian beaches.
I can feel time k**ing me.
You will respect this gift, this frozen flame.
I just want to make it to twenty-six.
Spoken:
This home that can no longer stretch to fold inside its walls all those souls we stole and stowed. We see it collapse, and we feel inside that we have collapsed also. Pa**age for ourselves. Pa**age for what ails us. Pa**age for what pales and wanes, gains, stresses, and bends. My crack in the wall to stare through. My own crimes to pardon and new sons to father. Turn up the volume and still hear noise. Wake in the night and hear the cement turn. We yearn, burning through a sky that couldn't care less to a place we haven't yet guessed. West of a star, left and on another how far? How many years will I breathe this recycled air? How many years will I be alone with the thoughts of a million dead? How many is enough? Grant me this space. We must all find our place. Must we all find our place?
We churn through the sky and we feel inside that right is nigh and life is a blind eye so we can live in this time, and that leads us not into denial, life of service or lie. I am in service to myself. The bridge is just as important as what it connects.
***
[Ghost: You know all this poetry sh** doesn't make up for you leaving.]
I know.