poetry
Shawn P. Wilbur, “Futurist Synthesis (Energy and Fear)” (1995)
Twilight and the last books are heaped upon the fire. Heat to warm old bones. Acrid smoke to tickle memories. We sit — we, old ones now, but once so young. We sit around the fire. Old war birds, made lean and light by time, by speed. Brittle now, but still. . . […]
