The Human dream became the Martian dream as we slumbered on our trip past the Moon. We could see colonies amidst landscapes pristine, teeming with strange Martian plants discovered post-bloom. The colonies bore resemblance to a moth's candescent flight, floating above onyx towers, shimmering perilous white.
When we met with the Martian people they were adorned with ivory carvings and had surrounded themselves with esoteric paintings of marauding faces. They spoke in strange tongues, switching between Martian and another, almost incomprehensible, clandestine tongue of barbaric intonation. They clutched ivory spears, but remained docile in our presence, and told us of the vivid dreams that had come to them during a deep, communal sleep that they had engaged in prior to our arrival, which was tinged with images of insemination and the lustre of venerable visitation by the Mars Moth-Man, who was oil-funded and had been delivering concrete messages to the people of Mars since the first settlers had arrived.
But, once we had truly set foot upon Mars— from outside, or perhaps within the realm of dreams which lived within our singularly multitudinous eyes— we could not have foretold, our collective vision was revealed to be a sprawling wasteland of infertile soil.
We need to be putting people on planets before there are Putin people on planets so we can dictate a culture free from dictators deporting the Dutertes from the atmosphere that burns the arrows of the Bolsonaros there's no progressive bastion here so we must look forward in the years past all of the Kim Jong-uns even though their bombs might fall soon so we can find the Roosevelts and Kennedys to change the scorching hell ahead we see but those leaders are obstructed by the not so brainy followers of Ali Khameini believing ancient myths and men who grift there's so much mud to sift there's no way to lift what keeps us from other planets through nationalist panic and conspiracy theories reaching the selective hearing of god fearing ******* calling Trump their master and the oppressed their slaves we need to reach other planets but we're still stuck in the cave.
Reading the front pages Why? Because you’re beautiful To an unread poet and Whipping posts away, It’s untitled leaking..It’s just like water, An October sky It’s just a memory A cry for the quiet... Burns A candle For the lost in translation about Fake love Falling for If they wanted they would. I care that Mars is a red planet I’m still here is A suicide note