The most human of affairs

Who will be the last to die, and what will be said

Photo by Joshua Sortino on Unsplash

In the future, they want me to load my mind,
sweep the black with a crackling light,

dendrites flex, a baptism of circuits
immortal in the bits of quantum birds.

Who will be the last to die, and what will be said
about them? Who will be the first erased

and will we really care? Tears like bullets
no longer matter when nothing is lost

to watch the mountains dust flat, epochs and eons
the same damn thing; a quiet, cold sound

of atoms ripped away, spinning in their brane,
spilled like a ship at the edge of the world.

We will live forever, we will do everything,
and we still will wonder what it was for.

© Trapper Markelz 2021

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