• Vol. 05
  • Chapter 06

post-human existentialism

dwarfed by the self-made
cathedrals of siliceous wings

no sky to get hooked up to, no
earth to put my feet on,

i stare down on my zion

where birds don’t fly

anymore along
the ether-way of aerosols

and all my innocent kins
have been

gassed and fried in our carbon

manifolds. sky no longer smiles with

the warm shades of blue,
and all the atlantes have capsized
to the bottom of saline deaths.

i am not supposed to feel this way,
i know. but i never felt
this alone,
i am a half-cyborg; half-oblivious

looking to meet my doctor soon
to upscale my
techno-analytic subroutines. May algorithms

have mercy on our nano-chips.