I do not hear the ants
The crawling infestation of spreading hunger
Where the blackberries grow on a silver vine
Everybody reaches for singularity
For the fruit that releases it’s grasp of time
For the hunger that holds you close and
dances around the room
Humming the song of copper and fatigue
I do not hear the whirring of machines
Because I have closed off my ears
And cut off my senses
You could call me a ghost
But what would that make you?
The crawling infestation of spreading hunger
Where the blackberries grow on a silver vine
Everybody reaches for singularity
For the fruit that releases it’s grasp of time
For the hunger that holds you close and
dances around the room
Humming the song of copper and fatigue
I do not hear the whirring of machines
Because I have closed off my ears
And cut off my senses
You could call me a ghost
But what would that make you?
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