The Android Dream of PKD

Not content to wait for last year,

I claimed the solar lottery on page 63

of an old dog-eared Ace double,

that had spent some serious time in someone’s tub.

The shock, like a hit from Vulcan’s hammer, knocked out my plug

and set off an arching transmigration.

Life came flowing in by gusty torrents,

like a policeman’s tears.

By page 103, I could scan, though darkly.

By page 141, I had joined our friends from Frolix 8,

as though preparing for some divine invasion.

And by the end of that book, I could sleep

the simple sleep of Futurity,

like some unteleported man in a high castle,

comfortable ensconced in a crack in space,

and untroubled by electric sheep.