this is a course of events
that will drown itself out
in the fury of wind, pitched
and rolled to pressure-induced combustion.
a single flame remains atop
the mound of charred rubble
taunting six centuries of history,
burnt out of perspective.

we’re marching to your town
and roasting chestnuts on pyres
lit from your libraries, book stacks,
and presses. cover up the tombs
and put a camera at the gate.
this time we’re not taking chances,
nothing will be sealed with fate.

truth will be bound in a code
of binary, and disposed of
in mathematical formulas. it’s agents
will be branded and banished
in a manner fitting of worthiness.
so far, that’s not very fitting,
but that’s not our problem, is it?

 
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