D. A. Borer
Rarely do I dream of a world without us, or at least without all of us, but some
are still here to eke out a hard survival
until Gaia selects the few to carry on
in balance
Sometimes do I dream of a world left behind after The Chosen launch and turn right
at Orion, head out with new hope
of a new place, in a galactic-capable shining sled captained by a child of Athena/Kirk,
Brigit/Spock, Minerva/Skywalker or some other quasi-virtuous coupling
Often do I dream of a world that emerges after my notarized
Requisition for a Selective Rapture
is fulfilled and everyone
not an ist or promoting an ism, everyone who rejects blind faith in commandments
of power lust and control, and refuses the engraved crusty blackened scribbled tomes/scrolls/books of crooked creeds authored by holier-than-thou hucksters
is saved,
Scarce as they may be
Always do I dream of a world
when ownership gives way to stewardship
when no right comes without responsibility
and when hoping for a rapture to solve our ills
is never dreamt again.
***
D. A. Borer roams the shores of the Monterey Bay. He has worked as a paperboy, general laborer, doodle-bugger, meat-packer, stone poacher, ranch-hand, and war college instructor. His poetry appears in The Write Launch and Sonder Midwest, and Rise Up Review, his prose in Montana Mouthful. Contact him at daborer@yahoo.com.