DATE ON MARS
How far can we evolve?
Even rocks
appear as molars
of civilization
here on Mars.
The glowing medal
of my mind is in
the dim passage
route. Souvenirs
are to be recollected
in sector 16
of the think-
unit's terminal
thought station. I lie
by the big shaft
cut into perennial
layers of basaltic
certainty. Thou shalt
build thy
house on olivines,
pyroxenes,
plagioclases.
Think
pyramids of the imagination,
pyramids of optics,
of observation.
But,
slowly a-crawling,
today is my night off!
The night-
vision epsilons come oped
and plugged accurately
into (come out, come in
handy, as required) the local
subparadigm
architecture. To call
all stations press
the belly-button twice,
rub in the code
and be transported
into the craters, where
night life is
just beginning under
the ruddy sands.
Baby, I
will send you a
mind postcard,
a mind invitation,
and then
we'll maybe
go check out the
fretted channels,
we're
on vacation. Hey,
this is definitely the hour
for our first tryst.
Let's
bore our way through
the tingling
sand's upper layer,
peek out
into the suddenly
acquiescent, the lull,
after so many
wild sandstorms gone by
licking clean miles
by miles
of cold lava.
A thought then heaves forth
like a plumed biped: but
let's gaze
at the general black,
with its white net,
of our galaxy,
hooked,
hanging on all sides.
Low gleams
a small bright earth
just risen
on the serrate horizon.
A sphere among spheres
in the global
economy,
but tonight is my night off,
and
by the light of the earth
we soul-kiss with our tendrils
behind the pyramids.
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