10 With strands of promises I roped these logs together, fashioning endurance out of trees you planted for me to eat from. I set sail into darkness, only afloat by grace, or faith, or physics. Here in the wind, I fancy my raft could be a spaceship on this opaque night. I’m free-floating between the Leviathan pitch jelly sky above and the densely-packed glitter-sea blinking up. I’m suspended between two black eyes— holy and hellish corneas meeting making contact closer than close, staring each other down, and I am a corrosive eyelash. I thought you were trying to claw me out, but you’re scraping me in—“Can’t Help Myself,” says the robot, and it’s art, but you’ve been saying it for an earth-lifetime, and I’m not looking intently enough to know the good eye is the eye above. Nobody is, and still you weave promises and secure the knots when our backs are turned— and you planted the damn trees, and the raft is sailing! And still, we’d all prefer spaceships— oh, to drown in that glitzy, glamorous glitter-sea, to choke on luxury and vanity, some mechanical purpose, watched by endless refractions in this mirror maze we mistake for the stars.
RkJQdWJsaXNoZXIy MTM4ODY=