You are committed to form but not material. Sexed up on the Nasdaq floor; ballerina heels Trailing oil from the Formula 1 track. You drive in every lane. Hair down, top down. Nails sharp, dark and purple. Speeding. Champagne waiting by the Olympic lap pool. Butterfly stroke till you seize. At night you put on that deconstructed jacket; Solar-panel chic. You can be both. You can ride that horse. Plant that tree. Show up on Mars. You reap what you sow. And the machine is raging, threads connecting. Singularity is the past. Intellectually poly. Romantically devout. You are dressed for every Evening of your life unfolding at once.