As our flagship stretches pleasingly
and then slingshots into a bright flash,
a sound in silent space, our heroes' Main Theme
blares in fugue with this common dream.

Tell me a story I should not understand,
but can.

Show me a place that could never be real,
but is.

Lull me to sleep, your vastness,
for I, your loyal subset,
I know what is knowable.
And you do not know more than I.
I know what is thinkable,
and your thoughts are bipedal,
symmetrical, like mine.

We are kin, and I am beholden
to your vision of
our technology prostrate
before nature's,
worshipping the organic,
A backdrop around which
the typical human static congeals
like a tragedy in the mind
of an audience
awaiting catharsis.
Oh, not for the purpose of an emphatic purge
but instead, to make possible
an illusory return to that place
we never seem to leave anyway?

Ha. Nowhere
beneath the sleek plasma bedclothes
cradling us in our predispositions,
do we crave what none can soothe
nor solve, the dominance of meat
over mind!

The fire in the exposed quick
of a toenail,
The spur jabbed deep
into the horse's abdomen,
The cat hanging by a claw
from the drapery,
six feet up.

None has the courage to codify
this secret language of penultimate frustration.

None will digitize this subtle hell.

The eyes of whomever would answer
have been strobed into numbness,
unable to discern the thirsty erroroot
which can suck away the digital poison
our nerves gorged on, the muscles
in our necks and wrists tightening
into brittle bark.

Please.

tell me a story I

can understand, but won't,
show me a place that is

real,
but shouldn't be,

and in turn, I will vow
to drown out our sounds for silent spaceships
with screams.