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Tuesday, October 7, 2014

particles per million

Killing is easy
There are many ways to slay someone
a child dies a little
From a thoughtless word or look
they die when no one has seen their magnificent self
not seen because the culture hasn’t yet lifted the veil
And those wounded children have become dead adults
Whose numinous has been stolen
they react instead of think
They react in what the data monsters call ‘predictable patterns’
So these dead adults are put to tasks of dire consequences

I will not call them who hunt me predators
That would be honoring them in a way that they do not deserve.
They are parasites that will and mean to kill their hosts

Metallic thoughts, they call themselves ‘intelligence’.
Oxymoron indeed.
Without love, intelligence can be a demonic force of heartless dominion.

The strands of the dream to be picked up again
And woven by our thoughts echoing through time
Screams of terror in the now reverberate
A drum beats slow
The strands
Jewels strewn across the sky
we are eternity