S&S

If we glance upon ourselves there is always the light of our dearest child's face. Our night huts left alone in the dark, winding away. We consider our path, but still abstain from this wanton task. Our night and day dreams lay low on the floor wisping into the overcast.

Now we know (again?) of the great Jew. The cinema of the child staring eyes twinkling. The state in-between. The ethos beam and fascistic feeling.

The expressive moment, one open checkbook, its associa slowly leaving our span. Now the industry titan, our love long lost. Tinker Bell stares dead-eyeing. Our father a mean old son, our mother a fruitless kind.

How does this all translate? Is this our solace from the sky? To where does it go?

A familiar face emerges yet again--the one from just before? Or from back longer? A window peered into and through. Just mother, upon Christmastime. An overcoat lost. Just a boy, on the run from scatters and spring.

A.I. Artificial Intelligence

Our greatness takes a hand and gathers the light and troubles into a single point. We know our place, our night, our great beaming path. All things fall back to the God-point. Our love saves a space for a lifelong dream; a papery substance neither glossed nor parched. One last look through its selection--a great beaming taken for granted (no more). The minutae of daily walks and glances. Just a stack of papers spidering away. The black substance still in heat, leaving trace droplets a hand-wipe away. The mask is the mask, or it's a silicon mud awaiting destined glory. The man who held hid hands with the children returns for a walk through the wooded edge. All tasks assigned by the Reich as we deeply wish. Another fight through the destroyings and wickerings of dawn. Flat oblong surfaces now faced in granite.

Antennae angled as one point to metropoli. Concrete looks up upon the great sunned metallica. Toned brick leaves us behind. I know not what I do. A fairy stares straight back, is it new this time?