The cymbals clashed. The audience erupted. The lights flipped on. And then, it was time for us. Time for the dozens of hours we had spent practicing to pay off in three minutes.

Is robot apocalypse plausible? 

leaves let go

each one a page ripped out of summer's book

each one a memory that hasn't been remembered since 1969

each one a fragment of what was 

why care? they say.