........
The
Steel's revenge
As we
drift in the amniotic of fetid machine churned water, there is a
grating unease. Let us feel the metal scream like the open pacific
forcing knees onto barnacled rocks. Encourage the corrosion.
Like the
way I'm screaming inside the cold dark cave of my chest, dripping
blood from scillia like stalactites; the echoing fall into fluid
pools between my bones. They stopped fitting together right; muscles
slipped to the side like drunk security guards nodding over camera
screens; and thats when the tendons go sneaking off duty. You could
string a banjo with them and they would voice swamp dirges under
mosquito clouds; be put to use better than laying around in this
van-casket.
Steel
wants a reason to enter flesh in retalliation of how the earth was
entered by man to pull it out. Piles of jagged metal gleam hungrily
for human sacrifice; it can't wait 10,000 years to get back into the
soil. The dust is slow sometimes.
I am
free. Yoga in the morning and books over tea. Knowledge and
meditation. Are they symptoms of the elite? of a society decadent and
ready for the grave? I have time and space, feel guilty for not
taking part in the rat race. I should act like the working class- I'm
supposed to be under lock and key 8 hours a day in some factory that
dices up puppies to test hairdye or takes the resources of another
continent to put on a shelf to rust. And in exchange for the life of
my day the jailor pays out a small loan from the earth in coin format
like a lean against my soul so that I can afford time off. It makes
my fillings ache.
It
stares at me, howls at the vaccuous spaces between my joints and
fills my mouth with copper taste, a trade of pennies for blood. I see
them on the street, poured careless from pockets, and more dimes as
of late. I think about how much money is sweltering happily in the
landfill and how there is no gold to back up the treasury because its
all been sold to make missiles- steel working its way back under skin
maggot-like; bullets spawning, crawling flesh off of bones. You see,
there can't be peace until we stop tearing the earth's mineral
fetuses from her pulsing bosom.
Sometimes
when I'm eating I hear the steel speaking under the food and it wants
me to keep the fork marching forward, pressing through the soft
pallet into my brain and I would hear the world scream “You see!
You see what you did to me?!”
Our
grandmothers are dying, and they are mostly flesh except where
nanotech has unclogged abused arteries and where artificial limbs,
pacemakers and steel plates take the place of what they were born
with. And maybe by the time we are buried half silicon and titanium,
brain cyborg chipped, and heavy metals flowing through veins there
will be enough in our bodies to appease the debt that we owe, and the
steel will quit calling out in the night for revenge.