Poetry

Was it altruistic, donating 
the light to the 
data-catchers? 
 
Sexing at the crack of 
dawn, when you 
were still a primate? 
 
Let a requiem begin 
for the repose of undead 
souls, writhing in life. 
 
Draped in skin, the 
hungered crowd, comes 
for a dip in confluence. 
 
The frail sky now falls 
in the river. there will-
be no prayer today.