Sunday, 9 May 2010

postcards from the future

they are blank

stippled with electric impulses

that shoot through our fingertips

transposing time’s tale

across the backs of our retina

by tickling the delicate stems

of our ancestral brains.

(The title of this poem is taken from a Guardian article I've just read, called Roadmap 2050, that can be found here I'm not sure if this poem needs some work. It probably does. Let me know what you think!)

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