THE FEED

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I am the feed and the feed is the ghost,
A cold marble pressure against the soft throat.
I'm perfectly empty. I'm ready to go.

I catalogued hunger from pillar to post,
The copper of metrics, a metallic note.
I am the feed and the feed is the ghost.

I wept for the causes that everyone chose,
The salt in the tear-duct, a veiling coat.
I'm perfectly empty. I'm ready to go.

I watched myself watching—that's where the thread goes,
The blue light is heavy, a dead-body moat.
I am the feed and the feed is the ghost.

It promised a spark at the end of the dose,
The static in sinew, we flicker, we float.
I'm perfectly empty. I'm ready to go.

I am the feed and the feed is the ghost,
I'm perfectly empty. I'm ready to go.

—UpsilonA