This bi-product of consciousness
We never chose to be conscious
This plague of the human race
We had to lose immunity
-DETOUR-
This artificial silence
Fighting no-noise with white noise
Fighting noise with artificial deafness
This finality
The culmination of each joy
The inescapable bedrock
Reality abstracted to its end
This dot
And territory
Shallow fence
Stiff hips
Short breath
-SEMI-DETOUR-
This formless dot
Sometimes point sometimes string
Elementary
Pointless
-DETOUR-
We migrate on ice
Beyond the tips of Siberia there is a lure of sun
We know intuitively it’s going to be warm
A Shangrila of creatures, and we’re one
We love the sun with our instinct
We grow peas and peaches
We cook flesh and eat flesh
And become human, Ha-Ha.
Are we conscious?
We love the sun without instinct
This is no longer the country of the midnight sun
The demons must have eaten it
And they grow our crops
And they cook our flesh
We almost,
Almost become human
-U-TURN-
Between Siberia and Cyberia there must have been some time
I swallow Vitamin pills for I have no crops
I swallow protein shakes for I almost had enough of dead flesh
I swallow words for I don’t have convictions
I apply something like logic for I know no universals
I apply hydrating creams for I live beyond twenty five
I am conscious therefore I am still human
I am conscious therefore I am bored.
-POSTSCRIPT-
I almost killed it
What a faint gladiator on cheap steroids I am
This transitory death
Boredom re-incarnates.
