We’re a bunch of early risers, aren’t we, doers who
don’t know what we’re doing, tearing down
highways and building freeways before our
parents even throw us the keys to the car,
seeding clouds with thoughts to grow something
before we even figure out where rain comes from.
Remember those tin cans we tied together with
string; we envisioned them as the first
mobile phones, and the myth we attached to them
wasn’t that we thought the phones would really work,
but that we would grow up knowing everything
the world wanted us to know.
Our secret whispers through that string stretched
tight between us never carried the message of humility
and, well, those cans are buried underneath the desert
now, pieces of polluted rust condemned by the nightly
news–the new tin cans–pointing fingers at anyone
who is not in their place, their time.
Grey Sparrow Journal 