The dragons of Eden
Are forking their tongues
Along the silver edge of acetone rain,
Foreclosing yesterday’s shop-fronts
In favour of a clean white page.

They smoke in tailored suits,
Blackening their lungs
And toasting freedom with afternoon champagne.
They took man to the moon, they say,
And gave light to the modern age.

They tweak offshore accounts
With battery farms
Of the hardly living, and hardly human.
Forfeiting progress for profit,
They scandalise the streets in debt.

The dragons of Eden
Are flexing their arms,
They’re setting their minds from union, to fusion.
They’re alighting our memories,
But it is our choice to forget.