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A Better Way



Trillions dead across time:
there must be a better way.

Grotesques
seeking through intermediaries

plasticity with purpose, protean,
with engineered precautions and tolerances.

But.  Is there an inch of the earth
where nothing has died?

Lone and lorn,
I hate breakage.

So let's reclaim exuberance
from the centrality of death,

that ache of aspiration on the
threshold of deviance.

Exuberance is not extravagant!
I am choosing to trust in tomorrow's surprises.

Can we remake ourselves
to better endure time?

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.