riding the dragon [anti human poems]



we created the beast, and now we must ride it, over
oceans, winds, even to the 
moon, outer
space is fucking cold, they tell me
though I’ve never been anywhere
but to the edge on the skin where it buckles and shivers
under a million hard points of light overhead, the wind,
seems driven less by the sun
than the friction of the flesh
against the void.

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