Organic oceans, dry and gold. Heat dust under optic skies - 
the earth is round, 
did you know?
Can you see all the way 
to the dusty horizon, 
can you see
now how the blue 
arcs down to meet the ground and rolls
towards you like a wave?
What should we be here, I wonder.
Just sit.
Feel small like a bee but so much more alone
the hive mind whispers at the edges, 
and there's no-one here -
yet all around me is the proof
that soon enough will be a pudding.







Sanctuary Poems (c) 2000 StarFields -