Bloxham Utopia

I hear the red kite squealing in the balmy April Spring,
An unimpeachable being where liberty rejoices under the human-machine metrodome.

I sit placid but disturbed,
Conjoined to the electric world,
Uploading downloading the essence of someone something.

I wait for the passing connexions,
Little bits of life whirling in the feckless consume;
A word here, a milestone note there,
A lighthouse chapel to pray when the roots cease…

By Cyrus Issac © 2007      www.cyrusissac.com/