Alienation

Fleeting insights
                like
cinders drifting into the night,
reclaimed by the hive-mind
blind to the mantic fury of the lost
                futures
buried beneath the crumbling tomb of history;

with no future,
the past becomes a desert &
the desert grows
moving toward us with the slow
creeping of midnight mist…

If I started to scream,
would you believe it came
from both pleasure & pain;

can you believe
               in anything

beyond the pleasure principle,
where something waits,
                impatient,
for the machines to fulfil their purpose?

But that question came to me in a dream
                so ignore it:

because
                this isn’t poetry

                just alienation.

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