a note for a Saturday in spring

His ears filled with teeth that told him what to do.

 

The boss to beat to go to the next level. Beat him a little dead to get there. His body comprised God numbers. God-like he was not.

 

Do not talk to friends, do not join dying conversations. This works. Drugged, pharmacy never cared, left to live a life seeing the air move. Security failed if you are alive and for employment with nowhere else to go. 

a Borg writing creatively

Borg calculated the angles in math space and fired. The projectiles pierced the clouds and sent religion in a new direction. If Borg angled the phaser right, then Stage Five Boss would fall. Stage Six. Silent philosophy tore the heart, clouds fell to Earth alive. Nothing under the stars but damage disoriented and us counting down night numbers to open eyes in the skies.