Teething wisdom, the citizenry can’t stop /
won’t stop chattering and boxing their ears.
There are no scandals—the sine wave
flat.
I imagine the Borg
edge on hard-core in their alcoves, relent
solely to materialize violence. Today
I try to write a poem and pleasure
fissures a blank.
Fed
feelings. Fed struggle. Fed thought. Fed
potential. On dark nights Janet Jackson
meditates. She envisions a colourless
spaceship. She and her brother
scream.