Mirror in my chair

(spine and reprocessing opening)

Listens to sins

Of people

That misuse words

And cut past

Nothingness

Mosaics

Cupola

Industrial scarfs.

Children in bronze T-shirts,

Unaware of skin chronology in these textures

Are conditioned by bloody floors in their homes -

Physical conversations

Led by commanders and owners of AI

That de-versed cities, sculpted human hands

As precisely as monks that translated book of Kells -

To the blindness.

T-shirts’ entirety of

What they call reality

Is yes, poetry of journalism and re-inked social behaviors

For the degree to which

They conditioned us to eat watching murders,

Neuro-chat-process history,

Question only where to place ourselves

In the range of their agenda cartridges,

Launched names-rooms

With re-arranged keepers of Time

In only physical,

Thoughts owned reality.