of then, now, and longing-
synthesized in a blue
dome of dreams
as seen from afar.
The Pilgrim* was right-
experiencing in
shell shock the war within..
mingled with bomb shell
shrapnel denuding the moon.
The dome protects
from inert gases
that keep the circle moving...
the stoppage of meme;
a sure and sudden death.
We know it, forging
through the battledream
of time... those in matter-
of-fact grow straight
to the sun and wither in leaving,
while others watch
the path of mistake
from behind the dome,
the safe place...
it is not a linear haven.
* Vonnegut's hero, not the idiots of the Mayflower
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