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.