REMOTE


So, we are to be uploaded to some sort of
unfathomable A.I. machine, bodies shed,
minds and spirits preserved in protective

cyborg shells? Then sent to explore, colonize,
and populate the known and unknown planets
that exist between the stars. But what if future

A.I.s are homebodies and prefer to sit on digital
couches, and watch Happy Days reruns after all the
meat puppets are discarded? What if you have seen

one wormhole, you have seen them all, and each
part of the multiverse is just as dull as the rest?
And I want the right to get lost and not always 

know all the answers, and struggle to learn a dead
language just for fun, and have happy accidents
which lead to life-changing revelations. Surely, I

do not want to stock up on vitamins or fast Silicon
Valley style in a vain effort to live forever;
this one moment is already more than enough.


 

VOX POPULI


A naked, male statue, knee deep in sand, stands in
the desert while a vulture perches where the bronze

head had been, giving the figure the appearance
of an Egyptian hybrid god. No tourists file

past to take selfies with the lone statue, which
cools beneath the moonlight, just as our amour

turned tepid after a season, and you removed my
images from photos both digital and physical.

But I will get my head together, so to speak, and
stake out my place at the corner of the bar, where

I will wax eloquent on behalf of the desert
statue waiting for his voice to make its way home.