In the cosmic
darkness, humans
are dressed as
flashlights.

Sometimes right
before I sleep
I’m dreaming that
I fly or that I fall.

I’m not really
sure, but I assume
that this only
happens when
there’s no collision
detector to hold
my body, to
prevent it from
falling.

And when I wake,
afraid and tired
of surviving
the immersive
spectrum of your
surveillance,
I use every single
cell of my will
in order to renounce
the intrinsic
part of me, the
only part I reliably
understand.

So I start
wandering through
the fiercefull
night, holding her
sacred spirits,
willing to blast your
mailbox clan.
With thunder and
noises of light,
with firearms and
synthetic diapers
I’ll make a mask
from the skin
of your peers and
I’ll block you
from TikTok for
years.

And when it all goes
quiet, I see the
lens of the
universe's power
as a condition
to overcome the
fundamental
boundaries of the
race. The scientists
of the future
will once realise that
a beating heart
is conquered even
when it’s been hit
by a gun.