Last Words

All words sink into silence
All images evaporate

We are stuff of pixel-clouds –
spun together by networks
that arise for a time
then dissipate.

Gazing at the graveyards of history
what can be said?

Efforts at exposition seem futile –
most things are already dead.

No matter how much we browse
the libraries of the past
or listen to the songs of ancient ghosts
eventually everything becomes
a discarded stack.

Contemplating the cyber-libraries of tomorrow –
is anything worthy of note?

relax in the moment:
the universe is in
each bubble
of your stale beer.