To PRC
Laying on the bed under a blanket,
on this darkening, frigid
winter afternoon,
I read first Asimov, then Spinrad;
how much my existence like that
of the Solarians, how much you
one from the cloating cultura,
deserving an endless wanderjahr,
as I my solitude among the wastes
of this depopulated land.
Such opposites meeting could
only end up harming
the one with the butterfly wings of soul,
not the one whose mind
rejoices in the silence of cold woods,
as the day wanes to starless night.
14.02.2021
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