By Pier Giorgio Di Cicco
When people feel close they become,
As St. Augustine said, “one mind, one heart.”
They share memories of things
They have not even experienced together—
How can that be?
Because everyone has
The heart of a child
Eager to soak up molecules of faith—
And life is faith.
Your wish here is, “I wish I was
Strong enough to go at it alone”—
You are not alone. The Krell* transformers are
Overheating—the tactic here is to disable
Badly looped belief systems.
“ I’ve worked all my life to have this.”
When you hear that, fire a volley.
Molotov history, remember your
Transporter is also your time machine.
Sorry for this talk about faith; call it the
Sphinx of hybrid consciousness;
Not as easily found as faith and twice as
Murderous if not fed—
It is the starved lust for life engineered
By the desperate or the damned;
As it turns out the damned build holograms too.
Or how could you suppose someone went to hell?
Oh vixens of neurology and light
Come to harvest the hearts of the faithful,
Are you the daughters of evening, or
The pale goddesses of evanescent hope?
Did you die, or do you haunt this earth
Weaving your tapestries in hybrid
Forms for saints and prophets?
I know you.
I know the chorus.
I know a wrong voice.
Here is no shepherd.
Here is merely the
Guardian of what forsook you.
* The Krell: A fictional race that wiped themselves out in one night with a technology that materialized their subconscious.
