The skyward myths, the poppy-field poets,
have vanished, the inexpressible
has evanesced above the tar pits
like the long-lost Brachiosauridae,
and in the cities, all that’s left is
Amazon and online dreams.
Alexia, who smugly spoke of rain birds
and atmospheric auctions on the net in blue,
was replaced with android Alexandria—
so much more invasive,
according to the conspiracy
“What’s for dinner,” I asked.
“Today I learned to play the cellophane,
and invented a new kind of water,
I call it Número Nueve.”
I was cautious.
“Is the cellophane an instrument?”
“I’ll be performing five
of Vivaldi’s seasons
at the Opera House.”
“What’s so special about Número Nueve?”
“I modified the resonant frequencies
of the hydrogen bonding to adjust
the intermolecular separation
probabilities. Miaow, miaow.”
She didn’t say that
but I’d lost interest.
“I think I’ll make a cup of tea.
Can I use your Número Nueve?”
It will explode,
but the blast radius
will be small.”
The Purpose of Reality illustrated short story and poetry collections from Meerkat Press, with pretty fair reviews from Publishers Weekly, Goodreads, Aurealis, and the like, now available on Amazon and at other outlets, click for details including reviews.
Emissaries, click image for larger version (no AI in the creation of this artwork). 8K original image=4 UHD screens. Evolved by my software that seeks unimagined realms. 8K original image = 4 UHD screens, from the ultracubist engine. Art and poetry also on Instagram.