Nice to meet you.
He extended a saturated hand.
Didn’t he know that was taboo,
the only blind man in the room?
Love your perfume, he said,
standing in the silly putty stew.
What is that?
He couldn’t see the electrical burns
all over my back.
Sweat? Sweet surrender?
Raw revenge?
The stench of death?
Or the smell of fear and pee?
We were the only ones left standing.
Chemical squirt
staining his jacket,
soiling my skirt,
while wires
dangling from limbs and heads
circled us
like legendary giant squids.
You have to be alive
to have a smell.
My aroma of demise
now the fragrance of allies.
I spit in my palm
and we revolutionize.
© khartless 2022, All Rights Reserved
Please read Jim Pinto‘s blog post on The Singularity for more information on this speculative topic.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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