i do not wish upon
the ashy-fingered grip
affixed to man's wily
beliefs about time;

like dali's work, it
becomes bent, warped
to the point where no one
can see it any more;

so instead, i wish
upon the children
of the universe, our
ever-loving planets;

and i swear by the
domes of space that
one day, our targets
will be shot by the hand
of god.