Dear descendant,
I’m writing you sitting in unbeknown jungles
Of local geometry: parallels, figures, angles
Around, less – circles as forms of the outer space, –
The world growing over with things caused by people’s trace.
No doubt, you know it better as years on later
There won’t be the difference, wherever to live; no matter,
What language is used to recycling your thoughts, not saying,
Some abstracts of feelings, but these last won’t stay in
Your life for a long, yeah?
Today is the same. In common,
You’ll inherit my curse of forgetfulness and futility, going
Straight to the future; however, these broken lines
Might bring you a sense of what’s happened with us besides.