This poem came from listening to Japanese techno while reading ftm-communist’s posts on the Russian election. I was marveling how people so different came to be so close, and constructed my thoughts into a mirror-poem (each line in the beginning is mirrored by a line in the ending). Anyway, enjoy trying to parse it out.

Do you sing in Soviet ration cards,
percussion of Russian flags - flutter-snap-crack -
to the beat of Putin’s swagger?

Talk of shooting stars across skies of white, red, and blue
as you look stoically to left and up, and
A quiet boy makes a wish on your fiery streaming.
What sense of the word humanist,
rationalist, pragmatic, pinko do you use?
All this time we were both not yet comrades,
floating in Andreyev’s floating time-world.

We find meaning in contrasts.
How did we do it?
The shadows of Japanese androids fit so imperfectly
over the shape of USSR busts.
Silently, we stretched to re-center our respective world-views:
You remained drifting northward,
and I realigned down-time to this temporality.

Time and space became fictional
and I saw the long now extended to reach
star-spanning civilizations and cyber-alter-punk timelines
(He nodded his down-to-earth head and let me babble).
When I said singularity, ICD or ansible, cosmic heat-death, apocalyptic gardening,
did even I know what was being muttered
as starships zoomed across the unknowable sky? 

In the footsteps of no one in particular,
and with a crack-snap-flutter, we emerged out of chrysalises,
and I sing in technocratic possibilities. 


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