agent of selection

“experimentally

assessing

the need

of such agent”

 

 

agent of

selection,

the hands pulling

your strings

you realise,

you have no spine

no skyline

nothing divine

just sloppy

soppy

floppy

veins bending

(regulated)

blood flow

 

 

 

agent of

selection,

you were never

the one

in control

run back

before the patrol,

make sure to

disintegrate your

soul

 

 

agent

of selection,

and so “the organisms

that are better suited to their

environment

survive

 

 

the pressure”

 

 

pressures that

squeeze you into

a drop of oil:

pull, tug and

grind you up into

a canned shaped

compressed

version of meat,

not anymore

you.

they’ll put a

label on this

can:

not your name

but your

dolla

dolla

bill

worth

 

 

 

agent

of selection,

only the

most suited

survive

so open your mouth

and give them numbers

upon numbers

of only the highest percentile

promised of

how you’re

“flexible”

“adaptable”

“always ready to

learn”

 

 

3 words

to describe

yourself,

tell me about

your biggest

challenge

prove

prove

prove

you’re worth survival

in this maze

of green paper

 

 

“selective agent

picking

the

better

suited

for the environment”

 

 

between

two tectonic plates

small organism,

will you survive?

 

 

between

polished shoes and

ticking time bombs,

small organism,

will you survive?

 

 

will you survive?

will you survive?

will you survive?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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wrong train thoughts

Overhead clouds and the girl sitting opposite me seems slightly unamused with it all. With how her reality is painted or with how the foldable table juts out into her thigh unlike a beautiful thorn but more like a polished rounded nuzzle of a plane. To her, I think, the world is made out of aluminium and tectonic plates, never close enough to clash. Grey and incandescent blue striped of a hoodie might just be her comfort zone- more than the trees sprouting out of the ground (maybe a bit too violently for her taste). She seems like a person that would would have coffee without sugar because extending her hand across the table would be more of a nuisance. She doesn’t seem very excited about her end destination, or maybe her mind’s too haywire to allow herself to figure out which emotion to splay out (so she settles with none). On a second thought, she’s ruminating. There’s hurt, and fear of broken piano keys, scared of hitting a C minor. Maybe she’s left a love behind. Definitely not on the wrong train.