My hands are energy jets.
I activate, rise and hover.
Fly out this underground tower.
I don’t know what I’ll discover.
But I do not cower.
I imagine a desert; cracked earth.
Where no woman has given birth.
What will I see beyond the cracks on the ground?
Anything is possible, I’m not earthbound.
A wilderness, or a futuristic city.
Under a dome, shining pretty.
There are no people, and I don’t care.
Reality is ejecting a white, silent glare.
The poet rises from an underground tower with hands like “energy jets” – no fear, just activation. But the real power hits in the second stanza: “a desert; cracked earth / Where no woman has given birth.” To me, a woman giving birth is life. Without birth, there’s no life at all. So this isn’t just a barren place – it’s a place where life never even had a chance to start. And yet the speaker flies straight into it. Doesn’t cower.
From there, anything is possible – wilderness, a futuristic city, shining pretty. But there are no people, and the speaker doesn’t care. That’s not loneliness; that’s radical self-sufficiency.
Then the last line flips everything. Reality isn’t beautiful or terrible in a loud way. It “is ejecting a white, silent glare.” No noise. No explanation. Just a blank, harsh light. To me, that’s the truth of that lifeless desert – and the speaker faces it anyway.
This poem is short, eerie, and brave. It holds hope and erasure together. Highly recommend reading it more than once.
Thanks
Totally Tut 
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