National Poetry Month: “E.P.C.O.T.”

Uncle Walt takes a deep breath

as deep as his remaining lung will allow.

“There are things undone of course, but I linger

along the shores of the living.

The power is going out.

The ego will give way to the Id

the barest aspect of my nature will

lie revealed as the vital force ebbs

from my neurons.

Roy, listen to me, write this down.

There is no futility.

The conscribed boundaries

of our souls are only what we

perceive them to be.

But God, God has left them unbounded.

I lie here in a hospital bed.

I, that is the cellular biological I.

The elemental concupiscence that

drove me to create – it has left my flesh

leaving only purity of will.

Roy, listen.

The experimental prototype city of tomorrow?

I tried to lay out the borders of heaven.

It all seemed so marvelous, so miraculous.

Of course its all orange groves and mosquito swamps.

Its all man and his visions.

Roy, listen.

I love you.”

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