version n+1

the stage is set, the frame is laid
the best of plans on keyboards played
some marked:  alea iacta est
lord shiva’s dance will sweep the rest

a forest fire clears the brush
the pallet swaps from “old” to “lush”
this buffer flips, that line goes high
to live and grow and learn – or die.

our era closes. it’s a draw!
the audience begins to cry:
“the set was rigged! the actors bought!
this message was not what we thought!”

our sphinx is mighty as the rest.
this one, evolving, ever jests:
“give up, go home, pass out. repeat:
our future runs upon three feet!”

 

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