If you don’t know what a Luddite is, look it up. This poem formed in my mind weeks ago, I finally took the time to write it down. Poetry does not have to rhyme.
Luddite futurists
chasing after moths
and flames.
The garden is escapable.
The garden is retrievable.
Luddite futurists
chasing after dragonflies
and cures,
snake oil or real.
A cure for death.
A cure for pain.

photo by author
One morning while getting ready to go to work I began to think about synthesizers. I thought about Robert Moog the creator of the Moog Synthesizer and then I started thinking about the Kurzweil Synthesizer and Ray Kurzweil. That lead me to think about Ray’s desire for immortality and this poem, which I wrote down quickly. After that I helped my wife and people delivering hay to our farm lift a few bales and headed off to work.
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