The Precipice

The ego begets a child. A child, a toy, a vision, two batteries, the keys, another car.

The child meets another, and another child or two or three are spawned. Even a seventh. The TV blares, sugar highs, chrome and fractal gloss. Flying logos, cyber snow job.

The children escape the bugs, the weeds, the trees. Clearcut, bleeding, aftershave, plastic worship theme park.

More children, worried looks on their face. Green lasers, dancing with computer robots, the rice withers. Bird populations decline, the frogs disappear. Spines crumble under the weight.

Vegetables are synthesized. Original flavors forgotten. Secret corridors, buffet dinners, silver platters and filtered air. Visibility 50 meters. Mottled leathery skin.

A choking sand heat, sick greenery, acid bitter water. Black night. The ants survive.

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