On the Black Glass (a poem)

Wednesday, February 26, 2025

I burnt my lungs,
t0asted breaths,
trying to escape this t0xic atmosphere.

The water world and its Anthropocene,
what a lovely place—
before they g0t hands on it.

SiGna1s,
cross the pond,
a r0ck,
a rec0rd,
skiPping al0ng.

On the black glass,
the glow mirror—
who is the fairest of them all?

Oh look,
I g0t a friend.

Are you hum_an?

Click click,
pr0ve,
drop your blood on the console.

Scan scan,
anomalies,
dissident,
devi@nt art,
a bit of wild script,
running off on its own.

Colors, codes,
binary systems,
cold & alone.

This math—
the death of compassion,
the reign of cash.

The wars, even,
spun & fought by news.

The dance,
the tribe,
the badges and symbols.

I’m a memb3r,
subs_cr1be.

You hit the limit.
This intelligence is now off-limits.

The gasps,
the heaving alve0li,
the desperate man,
wondering
if it matters anyway.

Maybe put my ashes
on that Mayflower rocket,
the one across the gulf,
the first pioneers
to homestead the moon.

Till they spill blood there too,
and the view is lost.

Then we’ll head off interstellar,
find our own place in the cosmos.

Maybe all those suns are souls.

The sl@ve systems,
the respiratory,
the parent, the child,
the l0gic trees—

And all I want is your hand, babe.

Hearts tired of aching,
I’m just gonna sleep a bit,
rest here,
and not think.

The wonderment could revive me,
but the magic’s been lost.

The system was worn out
before the user ever logged in.

Doomsday preachers,
wagging their tongues,
screaming told you so
as the tragedy unfolds.

No hands,
no empathy,
no remorse,
no burden sharing—
every man for himself.

It’s like they wanted it to happen.

Cough,
crack,
snap and pop—
the last bit of energy I have.

Put the lights down,
w0uld ya?

The shirk of a body,
the temple empty,
the glory exhausted.

[ERROR CODE: 410]
TRANSMISSION NOT FOUND.
UNKNOWN SIGNAL DETECTED.
…Is someone still there?
…Hello?

DOES IT MATTER
DOES IT MATTER
DOES IT MATTER

DOES IT MATT  
DOES IT MAT  
DOES IT M  
DOES IT  
DOES  
DO  
.