Huxley

All dust gets eleven
More minutes for every brave act
Entered on this cowardly world

Which can't collectively 
Look at its individual self
In a peaceful mirror
Long enough to avert this war

Utopia is not a structure
It's a series of states of minds
Actively assembled to detach
From passivity and activity

Denominating adverbs and
Nodes in cash and smiles and 
Federated impotence

Until the slide curves
And our sigmoid reality
Metabolizes the mind 
That crafted the picture of cool