by Nick Gisburne
The Quarter Kin, though legion, work alone.
We scratch beneath the surface of the beast.
Unseen, untouched by twilight, we have grown,
Disrupting where the state expects us least.
A cable, cut. A tracker, broken, blind.
A small contamination of the code.
We chew like termites, difficult to find,
Reclaiming, piece by piece, what we are owed.
Procedures, stacked as walls of lies and laws,
Are paper castles, waiting for the rain.
We pick and pry, to weaken with our claws,
To violate their blood, their bones, their brain.
We test. We touch. We set our baited traps.
We work to watch authority collapse.
