[Suzerain of Sheol]

Brachiation

We have towers,
and the memory of trees.
We have our limbs of steel,
our leaves of glass,
ceramic bark and rubber sap;
concrete roots and cold cores
for the thought of hardwood hearts.

We have synthesis, prosthesis,
a red hand-stamp denying provenance.
Glory without precedence,
our very own uncaused causes
raising miracles from dead earth,
inert pasts and petrified origins.

All ours.

We have our forests filled with mirrors,
crawling with mechanical spiders,
our domestic swarm.
Gunmetal birds with L.E.D. eyes
watching from the canopy,
watching us surge along
with all our godlike muscle.
Forward.

Always forward.