Ushered in an upper echelon
atop a pyramid built amidst fire and haze,
I emerge older, fatter, gladder,
plugged in the system,
a sensible cubicle, a fixed rubics cube.
The meme gene and its screen between us,
we are moulded and told
1 plus 1 is two,
two plus two is five dimes -how it chimes on the hour you spent
swiping ka-ching on that Mercedes Benze
to validate a quote of status quo,
I have stripped bare, for much less than this.
24 hour solitary confinement,
silent solipsistic bliss,
a heist on the hive, zeitgeist for the wise,
deciding the colour of my child’s eyes,
his measure of
disposition, ammunition, superstition.
A premonition of the demolition of human condition,
as I sing along to another pop song.
What fortune’s fate is at stake
when this thick and heavy gloss across a host of different ghosts
Here in your peripheral vision,
a collision of untold souls
each a piece laced in belief racing to speak a story of eons ago,
the one of a small grace note in this unfinished symphony
in which I am prophet and plot,
the root of the eye in a heart,
the whole in your neck at the base of your spine,
born of proverbial, perennial, umbilical cords cut by the blade of my scythe.
This fabric weaved by a myriad of minds wired with buttons,
I push them.