A bit of another story
for someday when we can
make the time,
to think how old river tales are,
those ones when a river is bent,
to the will of empires, using tiny
autonomic nanobots, scene human scale.
Here your mind crossed mine in all probability
exactly once, just
right, it all was just fine, grinding
to a halt,
frictional tension, old blisters recollected
as reminders, what the science misthought right,
and sold mysteriously, for the promise to pay
all the taxes you manage to squeeze,
from the cash cows digital representation,
brass bull, where once stood a golden calf,
in the blood of a red heifer and a white buffalo.
Closing shot. Chasing a pack of plain old lies. Most I told.
