← v9n2, Fall 2010
Poetry · Volume 9, Number 2

Ochre xiv

I am ready for my close-up Mr. DeMille.

The devolution

is almost complete.

I am three hundred eyes. I ingest

Mine enemies. I smite them. I am Kali.

Arms every which way. I need no hazmat

In my new post-human form.

The enhanced

Interrogation commences: I gobble your head.

I am programmed to swallow your thoughts.

They pulse within me. We shall know each other now.

I turn you to sugar in my thorax.

I know your confederates. I mantis your networks.

My location is secure. They stop the limo

So that I may digest you better. The motorcade

Halts and hums.

When will you know you have died?