Our notion of afternoon had to do with
The siesta of passing bleeding hopes
A semi-minute it took to breath well
On an empty stomach at the past for good
To truly feel the processing of all afternoons
All passing transparency of light
The trembling waving lyrics left unnoticed
Aches better left internal, misunderstood
Lost to attentive passer Byers
The future remained a heathen country
Full of autonomous regions, gentle reminders
Of what we could become, though
There would be no rest, and that was fearsome
Only the shapeless volume of technology
Merging with mind, intelligence launched
Headlong into the speed of secret stretches
Where time became something eventful.
Wuji Seshat 