You are the child of
Wine and the Giza Pyramids—
Slanted intoxication.

You are the sibling of
Your grand;
Golden as he sings melodies
made of cheap whiskey.

You are the uncle of
The reborn generation,
"I accept everyone except those who do not,"
They said.
Pretentious, yes.

But worry not, for
This is not a talk show
You are not sitting in a plush chair,
An audience at your eyes.
You are not the father.

I am waiting for the day
When technology catches up with imagination.
When I will be able
To sort your chemical composition.
To breach your prefrontal cortex.
To purge out your ego.