Hope’s a refusal to listen as machines speak war
unto machines the collapse of personal identity
a new spectatorship for fighting a proper pile of nouns
soft enough to sleep on abandoned rhetoric my blanket
apparition a profound relationship infernal fiends
lurk at whose kerbs time frame and location
crashes waiting to happen flicker in flame scorched under-
carpet lost to secreted guilt future memory is starshine
the night is full sale shoppers on the down
pillowed with billowing bags of trinkets and creative reflections
mirroring blank hatred this poem flutes because
flute people live in it a disingenuous crowd
they lisp the intercepted hieroglyph evacuated of passion
landscape moves on the knife says the killing is done
its solid voice dispersed on the bleach sheet air
every word a discrete virus spread in computer code