Sonnet: Unseasonable Facsimiles
So deeply buried within the culture, these twins,
these eyes that each mirror images of the other.
Cult classics from the 60s reinforce our ideations,
encouraging, if not requiring, some sort of closure.
Not that he was scared to fly. He’d done it before,
a thousand times, earbuds hidden. Toxic chipsets
scattered all around, landmines for the rummagers,
pomo replicators, even in plastic suits and gloves.
Copiers coping with rivers of information, always
reminding the family matriarch of her roots that
need dyeing. A pair of Roombas roaming around,
impossible to tell one from the other. Expansionist
sentiments, left on the livingroom davenport, slip
down behind cushions, pocket change for the ages.
Hal
Halvard Johnson
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