forget these
broken metaphors
you can’t escape
the sun
and why would you
want to
the simulation is turning
and time
is our favorite illusion
hacking the half life
from some other
unfortunate specter
we submit to artificial attachments

so, trip hard and burn slow

the ancient game is recycled
with perpetual patterns
and we are
put in and out of play
lying here wasted
we discreetly pray
as robot souls
lease placid
plastic bodies
to young men without suits

routines know nothing of destiny

i don’t watch them anymore
most days i sit out back
with the birds
and the cats
listening for
obscene and enlightened
voices
that question
this mild
transformation