Who

are you?

I wonder at the flesh masked face

those shining eyes beneath that glitter and blink

they tell me what you think

sometimes

and then I think

do i even know who I am

this -supposedly thinking- thing

when no knowledge is mine to hold

it is all mathematical instance

a timeline of influence

a combustable moment

a macro-atomic blimp in history

already fading into an endless abyss

where the world has already ended

and the dinosaurs roar and the dodo’s flight

are imprints in the stars

and us- us? you ask

we’ve made our mark

we’ve left a little trash on mars

(yeah not the best ending but what of a little humour right?)

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