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.
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