Seismic Nought

With our implant ID, we delete all the blood, We delete all the love, it’s easy and just… With our implant ID, We stop you from having thoughts that might make you want to threaten or run… With our implant ID, We believe in nurture, safer spaces for all of us to answer… With our implant ID, we see you scatter - so we pick you up and put you into one collage that flatters… With our implant ID, we just believe in brilliance - no more no less, tapping out is hideous… With our implant ID, we believe that: We were all born like this… in one name - no unique amber flame ingrained, no wild, radical claim to fame; our curiosity should all be plain… science has been re-serviced - and we’re here to serve its purpose…

A husk of hope on a window sill With the apricot light bleeding in…. That thing you called a fly had feelings… Had wings that you could never grow now… Their magnificent dreams are suspended in motion… A plane that never has to land… But you - you have to face their luminous breathing - this breathing you thought you could switch off with the notch of your bedside lamp… You must face the apricot blood so bright and butterscotch it burns through you… And as you squash this obstacle for the bin to remove it from your sight; it’s dreams won’t perish - they will scatter out into space carrying their truth to distant planets… But you - you will stay here, stranded… And though you may wish it - spiders won’t side with you over your so-called enemy… They will catch you and ravage you - tear you to pieces, dig their fangs into your dreams and wrap you in freezing shawls of guilt - Until you finally surrender - a clone-roach that never really knew the meaning for its painted circus orde...

No need to be so hostile… Unless, of course; you’re happy being the abused and the abuser… the miserable and the miser… No need to be so hostile… Unless, of course; you think that the pavement is only meant for you and nobody else matters… No need to be so showing; unless, of course you believe that this way you can love like an image that never moves but stays stable… No need to be so loving… Unless, of course - You feel something beneath your skin -  Something more than just nodding, gobbing, prodding - giving into nothing - playing the game because that’s what you were programmed to do - Rather than feel the blue - climb back up the marble stairs that dropped you - to the masked and dangerous depths of our inaction and compassion, where we hide and reveal our rarities rudely to a badly written opera script devoid of any course… Unless, of course… you want to look at yourself climbing back to you from that floor, the shining mirror of the chandelier kaleidoscoping your charging s...