The verisimilitudinous assault of the future
upon the present
is counter-revealed to us by its usurption by the past.
Awakened by the morning of our memory
from tomorrow's afterglow
we feel again the vapid movement of ourselves through the day
unaware as we shed skins revealing nothing,
a pith more vacuous than space.
The continual process of revelation
without understanding is all we have.
The Earth surges coldly through space
and the manifesto of our dreams
is written in code by the luster of the stars.
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