Concatenation of life clouds

and collapse into the puddles

of mud and curse and summer

elusive and mutilated 

to keep the autumn eternal

the enslavement to machine mode

perpetual like the rain

interlocking of non-human

program that took control 

over life.

But behind? What is there, behind?

the mirroring clouds, with their dirty veil

that troubles all vision

will not let you see

and the non-seekers will not discern

-      that there might be something to perceive

          other than what’s on the flat screen

-      that there is greater value than that

          of numbers that numb.

And what would be the point?

of seeing what you are alone to see

of ascending when others cannot even sink

trapped between two pages of blank

stares that have unwritten the skies

of all the poems of the past

of all the mythical dreams

what’d be the value of the note

when the melody cannot be heard

by all?

But then… do you stop and scornfully

backtrack for lack of witnesses and acquiescence

when you could point at the sun

that no one else has seen, when you divine

the warmth and your skin reacts

to the sunshine that cascades over 

the knowledge that you kept in you

safeguarded for secret delights

of tenderly triumphant music

when everywhere is complacent chaos

when cacophony has won, yet you hear

still, and perceive…

Let it be a shameless and proud dance

far from their paralyzing gods 

and their ever-enabling godlessness 

just to break the somber sequence

even if it frees no one

but you.