Predominantly somnambulists,
they rampage across the world’s empty, arid jaw-lines,
manoeuvring into mini-vortices.
They’re everywhere, in all directions. Furious,
their death-marches can’t be halted though,
as with so many things, we see only a part of the whole.
Sunk in the dermis they’re burning out of follicles,
scratching at the surface of their world in emergence.
Every day begins the same;
wake up; stagger to the bathroom; shave –
rejecting a thing that
defines me as being human.
