real estate

    There's always an off-chance the hype is true
    and the city of tomorrow unimaginably
    close at hand: Flying cars, robo-maids, gleaming
    towers strung with hyper-trains and skyways.

    Or we could slowly invade the empire of fish,
    learn to breathe water, perhaps wall it off
    in giant aquatic neighbourhoods. Neptune's Court,
    unblocked views of the Great Barrier Reef.
    Conveniently located near major shipping routes
    and continental shelves. Come live where mermaids
    frolick. I wonder what poems mer-folk
    would write, about the eels and corals
    of life, their horizons green with wet sky,
    incandescent sealights from passing submarines.

    A little later, we might abandon cities altogether,
    scatter the rich grain of humanity across galaxies,
    those vast plains and endless glades where everyone
    would have a bungalow, swimming pool, garden space.
    Imagine lounging in a low-gravity hottub
    carved from the red crags of Mars, drink in hand,
    observing novas in the district of Andromeda.

    Odds are, future cities will be compromises
    in dust and gravel, punctuated by instances
    of improbable grace. Reshuffled decks like today.
    I'm in a study, cradle of all cities there were
    and never were, trying to detect their glass
    and granite hearts. Anything to bypass
    the untired traffic outside, diesel gutterals
    taking us hour by slow hour into what will be.
    I'm thinking cloud-conurbations, digitopias;
    kingdoms born of air and light, whose walls
    are tall, bright and solid as we'd always hoped.

03 October 2001   23:29 hours
edison working to communicate with the next world { } sea and sky