When time runs out of incandescent levers and space-time is rolled up with gravity chords axons and dendrites won’t resemble mashed gourds sleeping or dreaming of never will wake from the cold swill of motors and rhyme-stuffed earthquakes Nothing passed forever when eternity’s now the future could resemble broken barges and scows tied to dark wharves with things of the past neither shaken or stirred when the last die is cast With incompleteness theorems a meta-world of deep fakes soaks up minds like business sponges of time reflecting in prisms the thoughts it can take Political levers eventually wind down and finally stop when the Lord comes to town.
