Writing Haiku like Jack Kerouac.
Genocide doesn't grow on trees.
"The Temple & the Tithe
Laminar wind, unsoiled, · lifts lint from living fur;
Cedar scents the sanctum · where soft feet pace the grate.
C-Fifty-Seven bears · black blood-price;
Wistar, white Adam, · waits, warehoused, watchful,
Dawn brought the feeding hand; · dusk brought the felling thumb—
The hand that filled the water · felled them with the final sleep.
Ear-punch prints the witness · in numb cartilege, nailing the named;
Tail-vein takes blue river · where viral vectors ride to root;
LD-Fifty weighs death in halves · while hush comes heavy, CO2 closing—
Till thumb-snap shuts the spine-cord · and soul-spark, severed, is gone;
Sharps Bin stands red, ready, · sealiong researchers' spent refuse;
Stream-hell scrubs the silver · and stacks their souls in data's scroll.
Cures come; · corpses count.
Gift endures; · glory stays."
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