Spirits in miniature,
Peery-eyed and robust
These are the unknowns,
That which lives
But does not merit.
These are the gods of
Machination and manufacture,
Seamless specters
Cradling human flesh.
–
Sentience implies secrets.
We are haunted,
Apples in a quantum riot.
A fetid core harvested
By ingenuity,
A barely palatable whisper
Thrust into a flaccid rind.
–
The rule of threes
Governs our misfortunes.
Stories convene,
A rash of clues erupt
From the creases
Of an intrinsic exile.
We are golems
In a system
That recycles
And degrades us
-.
A collective human musk
Claws its way to the surface,
Broken toys, skin-chasers.
The real revolutionaries
Bide in the fringe.
Our antagonism only
Minimizes our stature
Humanity is a condition of guilt,
A disavowal of instinct
We are enslaved to conjunctions,
To monosyllabic judgments
That mimic and gripe.
*
This is mostly nonsense I am well aware because I decided to write my thoughts when in a mental stupor. Anyhow I was thinking about bacteria and mushi (primitive ubiquitous creatures with supernatural powers that we can’t see). I was thinking what if humans are just tools? What if our thoughts are actually the cumulative thoughts of all those little nothings that exist inside of us? Without bacteria nothing would exist, so I thought what if they are gods, what if they are significant and we are by comparison a no-thing? No drugs were involved in the production of this poem lol I am exhausted and felt like going with the madness.
mindlovemisery 