We’re drift dots...
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Our bodies are bulletins behaving badly, running when we feel free– [afraid of our news feeds]...
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With nowhere to hide, we’re learning psychological acrobatics to climb ahead of us inside...
With half our child’s eye missing, we’re mending and pretending, eyes set on our marvel...
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Here, these humble bumble bees, clumsy and dignified, redefine...
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Because there is more to us than our dull diaries suggest; than these pressured, parasitical playgrounds repress...
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As we’re turned into clones in these city messes, we’re reminded of home in the simplest of places...
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Our hyper-perceptive, cybernetic surge is tearing through us, and we’re drift dots searching, scattering timeless new love.