And so the new world

And so the new world
chases balls down the street,
searches the distant sky with manmade probes,
follows small gangs of revolutionaries
cross-country,
cross-globe to other small events--
all of it tiny leaps and plunges in a universal heartbeat
that doesn't seem to matter to anyone,
but over time amounts to all that should matter.

It sews synthetic hammocks and
sleeps during the day,
diurnal life inverted. It
opens its eyes at night and
sees only voices,
synethetic hallucination.

It wears a turban over a yarmulke,
bakes in the sun,
skin black as night and white as daylight,
as varied as its own terrain,
desert and frail rainforest,
tundra and mountain and valley--
lightning synapses firing perfectly
in an imperfect world,
an ellipsoid world
barrelling slowly toward eternity.

And so the new world
finds hope in a new symbol,
a stranded figurehead strapped about with ancient chains,
laden with filled crates,
noosed at the wrist and ankle--
only this silvertongued magician
has the key.

--- ---

A bit of a strange, random poem that came to me quickly. It may seem meaningless on the surface, but it's rife with meaning--at least to me. It was partially inspired by a trip my siblings took to Obama's inauguration toward the end of January. So humor me by letting me post this.