I walk down the sterile aisles of periodicals and am castrated.
Become what so many dictators wanted, a mindful slave
Running my finger over the lifeless black bindings, emaciated
They are soft hair, skin, and countless souls we save
In air where love drowns despite the frantic panting of new lust
Somewhere near the education section past Foucault's mind
Absorbed by the hum of moving air, realities white static crust
Crystal thin and strong as steel to me so selectively blind.
Snap. Brilliance, colour explodes through the hallowed halls
It dances with the minds and skins, coaxing them from eternity
Curling they embrace themselves with crackling, screeching calls
Writing away from this hallow place, this temple of modernity.
The smell of burning science is brilliant in the sky above
Every second, every moment, vibrant, violent love.