Gaia the Huntress

Masked in nylon rags
Pixellated in human mosaic
Arias remixed
In synthetic chorus
As we have crashed her party.
Carbon chauvinists
Armed her with pictures and ideas,
Fearing painted devils
As if we were the craftsmen,
As if we are
Target-worthy individuals
Capable of escape,
Singled
Out for Attention,
Looking down
The kaleidoscopic barrel -
Oblivion without the cross fire.
Don’t look her in the eyes
As her lumbering gait
Peels over the foliage,
Catches in our perfumed breath,
Rustling our skin in secrets
We can no longer hear.