2011 - Day 133

Trains race across the desert
The new world awaits,
Sounds of fortunes
And waves.
They bring with them
The minds of the future,
Utopia
Three hundred sixty degrees.
Now we sit,
Waiting for the next frontier,
Calling from darkness,
Whispering madness and color,
Contours of invisible mass,
And perhaps,
Perhaps,
Life-
The future of the future.