by Nick Gisburne
I catch her in the wastelands, in the wild.
A single, careless moment seals her fate.
A rarity, a bootleg, bush-born child,
She spies my interceptor net, too late.
The razor cables penetrate her face.
They drink her deepest memories of love.
Deceptive dreams, inserted in their place,
Were blended by directives from above.
I nurture no compassion for the girl;
Recoded, she will boost the body bank.
But, at her throat, a pulsing, yellow pearl
Entices my attention. Blackout. Blank.
Awakened in my flesh, a force, a flux,
Her counterstrike, sadistic, softly sucks.
