We’re drift dots...

Our bodies are bulletins behaving badly, running when we feel free– [afraid of our news feeds]...

With nowhere to hide, we’re learning psychological acrobatics to climb ahead of us inside...

With half our child’s eye missing, we’re mending and pretending, eyes set on our marvel...

Here, these humble bumble bees, clumsy and dignified, redefine...
Because there is more to us than our dull diaries suggest; than these pressured, parasitical playgrounds repress...

As we’re turned into clones in these city messes, we’re reminded of home in the simplest of places...

Our hyper-perceptive, cybernetic surge is tearing through us, and we’re drift dots searching, scattering timeless new love.