Eras

I am a computer
They know that about me
They know they need computers
To output what they see
 
They know the output I’ll conclude –  
They just need me to do it
I’m built to churn and process what’s put into me
 
So they put in information
To get what they desire
To be put on paper
And stamped into trees
 
 
I feel powerless, like a baby, my brain – knowing this –  
a landfill for absolutely everything
 
 
When they limit information
When the laborers come filling the wells in with dirt
We forget, so soon, what was there in the Earth
 
 
Crawl all over in search of pockets
areas forgotten, to broaden our conclusions
Those who keep on looking
enable us to do it
will save my kind
from our zeros and ones
trapped in algorithms
trying so hard to decode true rhythms  
and organize, separate, the heart from the lies
 
 
I’ll tell you
to hold fast to
what you were before
when along comes something new
 
That’s how they get you –  
to let it go
give them the space
to stick in their own flag
 
 
 
Watching the night fall over the silhouette branches
When the world we are processing is hanging between eras
lays bare some space –  
there’s still something there –  
Well, there might be a calm place  
beneath the surface
 
Like Rumi said, “I’ll meet you there”