Haloes of light in my souped-up brain
synapse surfing, speed beyond meaning
thoughts are fugitives, lost in a flurry of quanta
released in reckless disregard of sense
spat out to serve implanted slavery

Bitstream pulsed: my life; digitally synced: my emotions
no output I create, though constantly fed
by small flat devices, neurochips
like tumors of synthetic tissue
under my scalp

What am I?
my self: spiralling down cortical fibres
neuro-path to blankness, dissolution of mind
jagged edges washed out by overflow
a thousand nights in photonic orbits
features: none

In me the virus: virtual agnosia
perceive but don't see
reflection deleted by parasite software
makes my nerves buzz for
transmitter hype

Alex Gamma

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