The future was a plane through a skylight Over Tribeca at 8:45 My brother, at a conference room table Watched the future rearrange all our lives
I was sleeping in her bed for the future 1st & 20th, five miles away Her roommate knocked, he was a relative stranger “Kev, I need you to come out here, okay, okay?”
The future was me, drunk at my desk job: “Update the database, reflect the deceased.” Cantor Fitzgerald as a digital graveyard Next to each name, I typed a lowercase “d”
I was frightened by the face of the future It had the teeth of perpetual war I called my father, he said: “I know, I see it I thought it made sense. I don’t anymore.”
The mosque on my corner The firetrucks everywhere The anger The mourners No history It’s dead in the air
The mosque on my corner The firetrucks everywhere The anger The mourners No history It’s dead in the air
The future was an ad during football: “We are supported by the will of the world.” From the floor, I felt everything tilting I watched my brother hold his 10-month-old girl Fifteen years later & we’re still in the future The blood & money didn’t fix anything We’ve grown accustomed to the depths of the danger This is the future: Severe & always happening
The mosque on my corner The firetrucks everywhere The anger The mourners No history It’s dead in the air No history It’s dead in the airTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
