2045. HERE'S HOW (THIS IS HOW)

HERE'S HOW (THIS IS HOW)

I dream of tending a yellow lake of gold.

This is how : cows come around from the

meadow meander, lowing and mooing their

way. A morning light with handles of jewels

traces forth the path of the day - things then

run to follow the lead. It all goes quickly away.

-

You think I live on a farm? Am crazy with delight?

Do sing the singsong meadowlark with me all along

the forward path? No, no, not that. I am simply

mad with joy. This is how : I bow to every cow,

both then and now who's sought a fair recompense

from the man who takes its milk. To each according

to his ability, each according to his need. And the

rest, like the Parson says, is prattle.

-

A billion peasants are dead on the lawn; ages and

ages of them all along - wired for speed and worked

until death, they've taken their moment and left all

the rest. Their world, now, is (finally) like some

eternal Sunday the Pope has decreed. 'You have

worked 'till you're dead to fill the Lord's need.

Now you can rest.' And (you know what) that's

all he really means. One Lord, in such medieval

ways, is just as good as another. Here's how (this

is how) we stay to stay and live to die. Put the

pie-post on the platter, let us eat until we are done.