We need a new metaphor.
We desire a new dream.
Something more
than the dark primeval forest
Something more
than the vast deep sea.
We have become the Other
and the Other has left the room.
Like Moby quick descending,
never to be seen again.
A barren land burnt golden
beneath the Dialectic's gaze.
We’re running looser than
a free wheeling tire on a
long stretch of Texas road,
rolling wild and lazy like
a meandering tumbleweed
across flat plains.
We need a new dream.
Something to wake us
from our sleep.
The slumbering giant
tosses and turns.
Disquiet fills the void.
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