If, as he said,
(and he should know
with his thinning hair
rimmed glasses and
pedagogical smile)
We’re not big enough
And the insignificance
Of our scope
Limits our petty
Lives to a choice
Of coffee:
Cream Or Sugar?
Then scribbling in the sand
As the tide creeps up
Is frighteningly sane
Unless we try to
Preserve: interrupt the moon
By chucking rocks at the sky.
No doubt its true.
Afterall, who’s applied an asp
Or eaten fire
When a morning headache
Pounds the mundane
Of white office walls?
Or undermined fancy
Through fact and feat
Of nature?
Instead we hit
The save button
And smile self-satisfied
And self-deceived
At our memoir-mirrored
Blogospheric world.
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