Some notes from my poet mind

The banks were grounded in the meat grinder, 

their roots sucking dry the sign language in the garden. 

Savagely censoring stories of spatial symbiosis, 

we still seek security and sell each other submission in separation. 

Every embryo eventually expected and engineered entirely, 

enslaved to equations that encourage entropic ecological ecstasy, 

entitled to an empire’s excesses and eventual endtrip. 

 There is a monster buried under every segmented square of stolen land. 

The bankers weren’t busy. The binary eventually builds its own babies. 

The drones take many forms. 

Harvest time has been labelled the descent of man and the pre-processed ashes of empires. 

The scribes are drones, self-propelled and unaware. 

The children of history are whirling dervishes, 

they are the coming storm, 

spinning faster and faster every time.  

~ Audry Autonomy