POETRY
Miguel Agrover
A Sci-Fi poem.
40 — he still looks 40;
Still battling Elpenor vertigo*,
Free-falling from his haughty ego…
ataraxia.exe is not enough;
But he’s not 40,
He’s danced 400 dances around Sol,
He knows each spent strife —
Hominid failures coalesced
In his 3D-printed pineal gland.
Enough revolutions will dispel the seasickness
Winged freedoms spinning on the head of a pin,
His code sings triumphs and regrets,
Delayings of what’s coming,
Entropy never ever forgets.
Despite his swiftness, he’s terrified:
A.I. catholicons are insufficient;
Sisyphean up-hill up-pills properly popped,
Or chthonic tonics embedded
In subcutaneous texts of might & drive…
Not yet blooming from within,
A terrible reminder of his otherness —
His will harnessed to assess,
To expose his ersatz boughs,
And relay findings to The Mothership.
