i can’t help but wonder
you see i foresee
the cry of fundamentalists
“thou shalt not see more than me
nor act upon it”
i see life not as mobile flesh
but consciousness and be
clouds of all the choices
digital or virtual
or love that gentle yields
what geeks threw up tomorrow
to run computer simulations
with consciousness contained
in minds to ask the questions
we howl on love is dead
but we’re the ones to answer
what else than silence is platitude
the ethically whimpering
can only let their fear reply
by killing those with open eyes
the great religious thinkers
have only consistent wish
so what can a comfortable poet
sitting in a bright english house
on a sunny august dawn
offer