“The mosquito, on the other hand, is said to belong to nature. It cannot speak.”
– Timothy Mitchell, Rule of Experts: Egypt, Techno-Politics, Modernity
you’re here in every silence / the restless buzz of summer quiet / you sing no song but the thrum in the brown grass / dirtied wings flitting from the weeds of rooftop gardens / between young limbs, knees scarred with asphalt kisses / merciless seamstress / prick your needles over fresh skin / watch the red thread pool / jewel-bright / blood beneath my bitten fingernails / legs embroidered in pockmark constellations / you drink your fill of life / ride the high of wine-red / end in a lightning flash / dying comet / on reckless wire rackets / yet you rise / inkblot clouds on humid playgrounds / even the tricycles cannot escape / your eternal hum against the sharp symphony of sprays / lemon-bitter sting at my nose / you will rest when you have drunk your fill of humanity /
i drift away on the jet stream / pretend the engine roar can drown out your incessant drone / place my feet back on frostbitten dandelions and ask the silver sky / when you’ll die / yet you rise / crackling with the ash leaping from campfire flames / the hiss behind the river rush / pink scars fade to white / burn crimson / i clean my fingernails / still waging your war / i pull the letters from the fire / read them by lamplight / retreat to white nets and stare up at the stars / their silence / ask if they made the same mistake / if they forgot who outnumbered them / living galaxies churn over dead black waters / i flip the pages / meet the amber stares that turned time / rode rivers / brought nations to their knees /
in killing you, we killed small parts of ourselves / chipped away at the corners of our crumbling home / wrapped in the mist of miracles we forgot to question / the drug helps us sleep / eyes shut / tell ourselves the Damned Die Tomorrow / pretend we can turn the thrumming tides / you / the rush of rivers / the breath of forests / the blaze of fires returning cities to deserts / you are hungry / we place our experts on the altar / you eat their hearts / slip through the cracks of their Deus Ex Machina and drain our reservoirs of hubris / have you drunk your fill of humanity yet? / tell me how our desperation tastes / blood-thick and sugar-sweet /
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