computing darkness,authentic brain;
you are so experimental in sadness:
you find new ways to make yourself sad,
you lecture without notes.
we are creative students stranded
in a boring hall,boring teachers,
only the subject interests us
yet we end up learning only
through the way of misinterpreting
and coming to know from other arts
to combine what we have.
asylum of studies each human brain is,
the brain that is often worded as heart;
science is romantic,it has oxytocin-
science is futile,we outgrow it all the time.
science is dead. we bring it back to life
to serve our boredom,
to continue searching by never approving-
perhaps we should all be mid ages farmers,
sleeping at six after dinner;
the sun sets and we settle in bed,
we make children,
we make future,
we allow future to have a chance
at making children,
and children no future to make
future of their own.
we live in past when we say we are new-
we are old,always old,we change
but we are never new.
the new ones are the ones ready to break
and mature into old;
when will we learn that?
only one lamp burns of us
and only a pool of oil;
we work around it
and our fire dances
out of shape,
warming each night into sleep.