I went to the night
and I wanted to run
further and further
into the star fields above.
Into the past.
Past my own people
and their adoration of
gender and tyrants,
drunk on power,
desperate without it.
For
the people here are slaves
to desperation.
Insignificant in space,
yet precious in form.
How
can we live content
as dust?
How
can we live
and then take
our form again,
in some manner,
some way?
Further and further
into the star fields above,
I lust.
I pray.
I send signals their way.
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