Tuesday, August 2, 2016



Decade stacked on decade,
the world has gotten heavier,

but the load hasn't made me any stronger.
Most days now, I find

my quads 
are totally zapped

and shaking like hell 
from spending all morning 

bent at the knees, hips,
and waist

with so many people's
past lives

all heaped and
perfectly balanced—squarely

on top of my 
future-proof back.


I almost never even 
think about it, the 

mumbles to me vaguely, 
off any guilt—

since every time 
these machines 
pave over something pretty,

I know something 
useful is 
being created. This makes me wonder,

is that anything like—
how every second I spend
not in reverie, 

I'm equally sure
something clever
is getting killed?