Colophon - Simon Bookish

A ligature

A telescope

The bathyscaphe descends five miles down

One tear from each of his eyes smears history

One page left to write he’ll never witness

One page left to write before the frozen dawn

If I die tomorrow

What difference the type I used?

What if these pages turn to dirt?

What are these words?

What are these words?

New books, as yet unwritten, let them say

«All struggle now forgotten

Don’t you see this window of time to program

Amnesty?»

It’s not too late to rewrite history

Not too late to save ourselves

Not too late to pull this species

Above, beyond, above, beyond

And home