“A horror so deep only ritual can contain it.” — Sarah Kane, “Crave”
All that exuberant, collective hope of a new year dissipated
into silhouettes whose interiors frame a groomed rage.
Such glamour is visceral in the light of a knowledge apocalypse.
Our inherited rage learned.
Daily lessons worn so deep to appear smooth,
ordinary. Even today, algorithms reveal their shadows.
Yes, it really has always been like this:
raw, broken, cruel, and transferred.
How we participate is birthright.
Such process generates the futures we believe we can change.
In all this fractured isolation, soft bodies spread sparse.