Cool winds of similitude wash stellar plazas

blow silently across the city

and drift outwards from the centre

emulsifying idiosyncrasy,

Squaring circles, Erecting Order

rewashing Convention’s creeping shallows

 

Elixirs of history are buried,

No implants, programs, interrogation room,

Nodding dogs wear surrender like a plume,

of smoke, stringless marionette. All is slumber.

 

The ads roll through lives pixellated

like tumbleweed we go, vacuum-packed soul

In the mirror an enemy is seen.

Desire empties the air of promise.

 

When moving across municipal stone

a physics of alien power grows up all around

A sleeper, the trinity of economies rise through me.

Of network Of money Of sex.

But already it is sunset on the block.

and we are seated in our personalised cell,

Fear not, the guard will be along to clear

your ashes momentarily.

BlocKunming

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