The Slaves hate the Masters &
                themselves.

The Masters hate both & everything else.

A glacial surface is crawling across
our collective imagination,
while the world burns
                    waiting
to destroy civilisation.

When we stare into mirrors or
out of windows every day,
do we admire or look away?

Do we know that what we see is only
one more object
                consumed
& constituted
by an infinite sea of others?

Do we feel the horror of that
brief tremor
beyond the horizon of thought;

a something that is nothing
at all,
        &

when we chose to avert our gaze,
to pretend that everything will remain
        the same;

when we shatter the mirror & the shards
dig deep into our hands,

will we realise that

we have no one to blame but ourselves?