Cyclopean Reminiscence

Stashed with programs recorded, which, condensed on universal files Will tell them very little of what they don’t know and may never know In this lifetime or the next heaven, in this orbit or the next Treasure from this Earth loaded up on classical chips, some kind of text Even the quantum loads with memory mimetic, made to mimic the brane Will lead you no where’s at all, empty, with your mind well past insane For what else or beyond could be so crazy as to part from this precious earth Without ever having known it’s cost, price, work, measure or stint of worth And clearly, those who leave, when they leave, will not have known one grain Of sand or soil, mud or toil: all dusty plows pluming billow-clouds into rain Run on gasoline or stocks of mules, donkey, horse, or ram, shepperd’s hand Fields from lost fields, turning wheat from grass, rice from blue water land The mystery of death and birth still a mystery; life a mere reminiscence Without any real light here or plant photometry, only luminescence Imagine leaving this planet without every having known it’s rhythm Going to some other world set in it’s own path, with it’s Keplerian hum Beating out some different drum, set in a blinding sphere of light and sound Like blended whiskey with the Irish; or Navajo, without the calendar round Sans irony, the starmen will consult their astrologer or star-chart for this logic Countin’ the days before they land again when the stars are [csmo]allo-genic Since this cosmos has revealed no light to them, the starmen going forth Eager to jump off of Earth’s orbital path, bend and trajectory Their spacesuits, ships, tanks, sabres, and thrusters made from the factory Everything printed like plastic in hazy glow and in false dimension In light and low gravity, with false smiles and fat charms hanging in suspension How could the new age begin completely unaware, one might ask ? With no real knowledge of how the past one ended, without a task This high level of dimness, this naivete, and ignorance unknowing Much like blind men on the river styx, or perhaps, along with Homer rowing Going from one ruse to harbour next shenanigan—look into the Cyclop’s Eye! No land in Egypt and with Dido elope, with the Siren’s despair, intoxicants in Libya