I’d never seen a light as bright as the stars exploding into new galaxies and cosmos. The abundance of time and space there so infinitely is outside of the universe that we tend to consider our own unravels me. Like a spool of thread, I spin, circumnavigating everything that makes the Earth seem like one atom of bacteria in an ocean filled with magnificent creatures. We think to ourselves that we’re the only ones, but could it really be true? With how infinitely vast everything that surrounds us is, I would think not. There have to be others - maybe more sophisticated creatures. Ones that sip fine red wine from goblets, and like Bukowski, listen to the same things over and over again. Over this music and the sound of tapping feet plays the sanity that we’ve not seen much of. They’d question war when they saw us in the act of it; maybe watch us like we were the savage animals on the other side of the thick glass at a zoo. They speculate on what we’re trying to achieve while they live out their day. After this, they lay their head on fluffy pillows and wonder if we know of them, wonder of our lives and our different systems or methods. But it probably wouldn’t matter much to them, once the cyber electronic sheep dance inside of their ever-closing eyelids. Then, they’re sleeping soundly, their mind playing out scenarios, maybe making a peaceful mosaic out of what they call their own, and upon examination of our world, never asking for more.