Wormhole Poem by Ian (John) McCleary (Son of the Cleric)

Be careful of going to other parts in time when you are in the present, or your mind will waste it's life in a place where not even the ostriches neck has reached to.
Eyes buried in the screen someone snaps their fingers in front of your face to bring you back to consciousness, to your life that is presently before you.
You are in a world of twenty four hour speculations and nostalgia for rusted beat up cars. Your head is in the laps of celebrity moms when it should be in the business in front of you.
The future army wants those who choose to stare into a lightbulb and fuse with it.
Time travel is not as extreme
as the movies. The space time continuum is in the human desire for what the present cannot
afford them
Your language your thoughts your feelings are already there, if you are to remain in one universe.