Wave Of The Future

• Peter Meyer, Grade 12
• Poetry
• 2008

Shoot up last millennia’s harm(ful//onised) faux-Flamenco blood
derived from something (probably prescribed by the French)
which seems to believe it's robots or aliens
or some un-god-awful life mixing these vocoders.

[Care, only a minute into two cells feeling safer in almostnuclear fusion,
one from the carefree salsa and tango dance floors of the tank,
the other on a minute mile from the heart.]
Pace euphoria's red draining into blue into black holes in hazel eyes.

Sampled generic(isms) of white noise a
re:injectioned to spread [anti-]viruses through this subject
[that only I, and my cellmates, may
hear] producing wavelengths of astro
nomadic vital signs.

[Me and the guy in the cell next to me are swallowed by the protostar:

"Hey, I yearn to decipher robots or aliens or
those Frenchmen in High

Definition."]