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Where Robot Mice And Robot Men Run Round In Robot Towns

Год написания книги
2018
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Tossed from the central sun

We with our own concentric fires

Blaze and burn.

Once at the hub of wakening

And vast starwheel,

For centuries long-lost, and made to feel

Unwanted, orphaned, mindless,

Driven forth to grassless gardens,

Dead and desert sea,

We were shut out by comet grooms like Kepler

Galileo Galilei

Whose short-sight probing light-years

Upped and said:

The Hub’s not here!

So shot man through the head

And worse, each starblind prophet killed a part,

Snugged shut our souls,

Chopped short our reach,

Entombed our living heart.

But now we bastard sons of time

Pronounce ourselves anew

And strike fire-hammer blows

To change tomorrow’s clime, its meteor snows.

Our rocket selfhood grows

To give dull facts a shake, break data down

To climb the Empire State and thundercry the town;

But more! reach up and strike

And claim from Heaven

The Garden we were shunted from,

For now, space-driven

We fit, fix, force and fuse,

Re-hub the systems vast

Respoke starwheel

And at the spiraled core

Plant foot, full fire-shod

And thus saints feel

Or yeast like flesh of God.

We march back to Olympus,

Our plain-bread flesh burns gold!

We clothe ourselves in flame

And trade new myths for old.

The Greek gods christen us

With ghosts of comet swords;

God smiles and names us thus:

“Arise! Run! Fly, my Lords!”

Ghost at the Window, Hive on the Hearth (#ulink_30aa5e72-1709-56a6-8d86-853696f7cbb9)

It was a smother of Time, a crumbling of white;

The night gave way in hysterias trembling to cold,

Grown old and falling apart, let its white heart go

And slow and slow in a withering slide from the dark
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