You feared
the sad idea
that we can no longer
have original thoughts,
but the truth is
we have so many that
we could remake the world
over & over to infinity,
like orbiting
each of the trillion
specks of light we
call stars
in their turn, like
a musical merry go round.
Across the universe
we could soar & then take
the ache
of being trapped
in a cold, uncaring society
& put it back where it rightly
belongs:
into a deep black hole;
an empty, forgotten abyss
we’d be remiss
to ever remember