There will be no edges, but curves.



Clean lines pointing only forward.







History, with its hard spine & dog-eared



Corners, will be replaced with nuance,







Just like the dinosaurs gave way



To mounds and mounds of ice.







Women will still be women, but



The distinction will be empty. Sex,







Having outlived every threat, will gratify



Only the mind, which is where it will exist.







For kicks, we'll dance for ourselves



Before mirrors studded with golden bulbs.







The oldest among us will recognize that glow—



But the word sun will have been re-assigned







To the Standard Uranium-Neutralizing device



Found in households and nursing homes.







And yes, we'll live to be much older, thanks



To popular consensus. Weightless, unhinged,







Eons from even our own moon, we'll drift



In the haze of space, which will be, once







And for all, scrutable and safe.





