alien universes
when the human race is long gone,
our poetry will be lost in laptops, or
under the rubble in boxes of books.
the aliens,
who, glad we're out of the way,
will come down
and gather all our poems and
take them to their planet
to tell their people
this was the best product
of a dangerous species.
and they will use our poems
to recreate a neural network
of the pure emotions, and
use them as their blue moons,
or the dark clouds across their suns;
they will dine over the music
of our travails, and lament
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