On the horizon we
stand
gripping the rails,
honour fading like
sand
folding the sails.
Some might say we
cling
to the land
hearing the wails,
few of us will
understand,
fearing before
end,
all and each
in one command.
Feeling the nails,
earth’s reprimand -
Gaia, tipping scales -
against the firebrands
moving veils
beyond our hands,
and she demands,
we must not
fail.

A simple joke about Peace
through the eye of a fish,
trawling the factoids
in the place where you sit on chairs
onto your eye biscuits it floats
a knot in the Mystery Ribbon
at the system’s edge -
order your personal
Cosmos.

Om Unit, Spamdroid

please stop. thankyou.