A piccolo plays from high on a mountain,
Amplified by speakers in the valleys below,
Signaling the start of a civilization.
Cities rise on the rivers between,
None bigger than the one at the end of the line,
Which has a port, a stock market, and radio towers
That reach for the sky.
Violins intercede,
A cold piano begins its melody.
Internet cables bring us closer together,
A phone company connects us all.
Netscape. Winstar.
Names like these add to the mystique of the 90s,
A time when humans are abandoning
The analog for the digital.
From Cusco to New York
the satellites relay information,
building our knowledge
in threads of waves,
sculpting us into one being
as the violins gather in strength.
It's all very lunar,
like the ET scene
when they ride bikes in the air.
Only this is the music of the future,
dragging our past behind it,
transforming us into something new.
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