this is ours
by rights we reclaim it, a fight in writing that bites back again
when the nights are stretched to breaking by the hours we spend awake in them.
think of the power we have
fiber-optics and copper trotting through bedrocks,
beneath seas that seem to me to be as near to intervening as the breeze.
and we're afforded opportunities
unavailable to the hoards of previous peoples of every family, genus, species.
we seize these as only we are able, every lost little bean knows
you are as close to us as you are to the holes through which your cable goes.
with which we burrow
and from beneath we ****** comfort and warm fuzzy glows from those
who think they still know how the rock rolls and what it's like to be between the tender years of thirteen and nobody-knows.
it's not enough any more,
stuff galore but still the crumpled detritus of bad ideas augments the dust gathered on the floor.
this rising pain will crash,
like the glass roof we are preparing to smash,
and with the scratching fragments falls the now forgotten skin,
too small for the shining lives we strive to begin.