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Spacetime & Alien Vibrations.

Age circa six.
Playing Space Invaders.
Blind to the significance.

Carried along by my river.
Dumb to its alien process.

Up above, all around,
the gears are turning,
moved by hands

governed
and fingers slaves

to strings
inside

pulled by puppeteers
from out there,
up in the sky.

Yes,
they are here, unseen
and more than merely
observing.

If I knew
what I know,
what would I do?

Close and latch
the windows,
draw the blinds?

Lock and bolt
the door, go to bed

with a gun,
one eye open,
and only with the lights on?

No psychic
or material
boundary
is shield
enough. No armour.

No cocoon
of suffocient
strength.

One mind
can’t take this impact,

at least not
all at once,

and the resulting
dysfunctions
don’t ripple

out to the lake’s edges
in a day. Pluck

a strand
and embrace patience
as you wait

for the whole web
to vibrate.

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