whisper stop. Mountains shiver in white cold.
Here: a cascade of life water spilled
to form stiff cakes and craters
marring what delirious joy and knowledge
our ancestors were.
shadowing itself across time,
who will wake here,
among the wires and micropchips
in inhuman bowels
of mechanical programming?
Blink against dust and grease.
See how there is an artificial tube feeding you.
That you didn’t know, grown used to the taste
of that steel nozzle,
the swift insistent permanence of it
choking pressed against your inside.
Until you saw the serial number.
It was then that you looked
that you dared to look
into sterile reflective glass
to view your own eyes, nearly orbs,
merely glass passivity.
A life-like quality began to settle there.
A sadness cut in shadows,