Thursday, February 16, 2017



The buzz-buzz of commerce. Mysticism
has gone out of style. Business programs
overflow with CEO wannabees. What we need
are more midwives, candy shops. Fewer
middle-managers. The robots are coming
for our jobs. A tech apocalypse without
laser-guns or a rugged organized resistance.
Who wrote the song Will You Still Love Me
Tomorrow? I strike my flinty “I” against
the world and watch the sparks fly. Each
memory is a grave-stone. A piece of driftwood.
Our fears are democracies. The gate-crashers
will inherit the parties. Until they are over.
Never-ceasing is the secret to a long life.
I’d rather rest my head against the anvil of 
uncertainty than the Bible’s yada yada yada.
There is a lake of fire or fluffy white clouds
inside every person. I’m sorry but I cannot
nullify my thinking. Will you be my darling?
Here I brought you this bouquet of birth
and hardship and death. Hit refresh.
Set your imagination to self-navigate. The
bridges are out. Satellites keep transmitting
your location to the rich and the powerful.
No more prefab houses or dime-store metaphors.
Remnants of the Big Bang pixellate
the universe. Always an ache at the edge
of something. Redraw the borders.
When the shutters blow open, let the seasons in--
it's so easy to surrender one's say-so.

By Chris Banks

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