Recitations of Beat poetry,
Half rhyme made to work,
Part sung & spoke every
Possible halting way, a dream
Written into the air, rarified.
Mechta, the dream lives, short-
Lived yet enduring a long time,
Paragon of drive, realise, a sign
Of the clouds yet to be caught,
Ensnared & set to work, thus called.
We all need dreams of song,
Even if they aren’t sung,
Voyeuristic vicariousness turned
Into fuel for the solar powered mechta,
Prototype of all archetypes born.
That which is born must ever die,
Né to korosu, the tower sign
Rings, calling all dreams to fly,
To soar, wings spread, eating time,
Mechta explodes, declines…& lives on.