2024-11-07

After Her Funeral

The humidity permitted
The universal dispersal of the static shock
Abound in the 80 degree November.

It lept from one drop to another,
It filled every hole, swallowed every surface,
Until, at last, it burrowed its way into the secret of the switch,
And the machine was designated “On.”

Whence did commence the spinning wheels——
Manufactory for the armies of fingers
To group
To circumscribe
To collapse
In searching for bits and pieces emerging from identified individuals:
In Search of Unification within Formal Guilt.

Once the crime was then uncovered,
Each digit took the indivisibility
And held it in the creation of their hyperstitious cells:

“They came for me;
I remember
They will come for me.
Hah!
What fools!
For here I’ve already relinquished my physical state.
Come one and all!
Come challenge!
I care not about their whirring drills——
My own light to myself is preparing.
I can feel it tremble
Of preparation to burst forth its seems
And anon to where those greedy will never find!”

But we all ate of the same delusion——
Already now swim the prions
As we extract the enjoyment released in the break-up of neural connections.

Shan’t we rather hold hands
Or try our damndest to scrunch together the few chunks of wet porridge we can all still claim our own?

“So come on, then.
I await my sentence.
Send me somewhere that I may at least enjoy the full echoes of the metal spoon clanging against the edges of my near-empty bowl.”