The future is a sand-box:
Clean, though it has been used before.
You’ve done fifty years of
Robot-sheep sleep
In the routine pipe-pipe-pipe.
Now pick up your spade:
Dig your holes, shape your hills,
Build the walls, the castles.
I am here, to nudge your elbow,
Gently remind you _
As I whispered in your predecessor’s ears –
Though you are all,
Ultimately, sensibly programmed to forget –
There are those that will use these grains
After you and your irrelevant efforts
Are gone … and they’ll never know that you were here!
The bad dreams will have you
If the best ones don’t.
