It was a bad day:

By the end of it

He had become convinced

That the landscape of the city

Had been usurped

By town planners and map makers

“A conspiracy of cartographers”

Bent on remaking the streets and alleys

Into the shape of a giant barcode

Visible from above

Ready to be scanned by satellite

Primed

For transfer and comparison

In anticipation of the Singularity

Or the imminent Immanence

A quick response code for the Mothership

 

He looked forward to tomorrow

When he could drown his brain in wine

And forget for a moment

That most things in the world

Were out of his control

 

 

Mark Beechill lives and works in Canterbury. He is the author of three volumes of poetry and numerous zines. He hopes to one day be completely invisible.