and again it stabs, a flickering flash
like Macbeth’s floating dagger:
invisible, hallucination, a silent pain.
Like a nettle, a rose’s thorn,
it twists and curdles into rotten barbed wire.
It rests in your pockets
sits in your palm,
it vibrates on our tables
and jolts us from an already fitful sleep.
Influencing ones and zeros
flood over bodies and seep into conversations,
ooze across...
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