Socrates will also know pickles

TWA will not wear a toga

Between these two heresies will be a tripod

In this the secret of exits will be revealed

Direction will be lost the century before the last one

The crisis will begin with cemeteries building answers

Somewhere there will be a fish born in a desert

Never wed Romans to a messiah before counting lost futures

Maximize your crusades between the garage and the kitchen

Take your pills instead of your exes it doesn’t matter what color

Liquid will not be the only adventure for sperm

Open your best book and drive through its portal

History will soon be the sole means of escape

There are principles to remember no matter your cargo

Backwards must find its own radar

Shift must find its own Newton

Stop is the greatest of all liars

The universe will at last meet its Copernicus

Something named Aquinas will fruit a bad tree

Don’t speak in textures of dried clipper ship hulls

Don’t chew on bark wearing dark insects

Do dig vegetables using the right robot

Appreciate the necessity of mindless complaints

Perfect the art of self-abandonment in museums

Make efficient your butterflies crawling through psyches

Cut loose the sash of a diminishing waterfall

Text your old data from long-distance farmlands

Follow a spiderweb to Los Alamos and turn left

Don’t make priests of volcanoes or else

Don’t make a system of dropped sticks your forecast

Never roll dice at flipped cards or birthdays

If Shrodinger’s cat gets lost you can find him in the Miro constellation

Landscapes near oceans are now the ones best to avoid

Music will become time’s most potent memory

There will be too many horses galloping away with chronology

Tomorrow will become the world’s greatest myth

The telephone will become the world’s greatest gun

Wait for the serpent to uncoil your questions

Sleep inside shadows but not inside whales

Hide your worst secrets from the red eyelid of the sun

Many will isolate in the white half of the world

No one will be better at the cracked landscape than flies

At last there will be a wail like a god amputating fingers

Religions of oneness will combine to extinguish all rainbows

Angels will suffocate on the birth of cloned clouds

Shades of hyenas will raid a place called heaven

The last sight of the sun will be brown

You will no longer need to fear mushrooms

That’ll be ten drachmas