A LIGHT TOUCH
Every demon knows the trick with butterfly’s wings.
Tesserae, perturbation.
The small becoming great.
An oceanic instability, a gram shifting,
A star dissolving into endlessness,
A thought let loose and floating,
A pinch of plutonium.
Weights and measures,
The weighing-up of Newtonian Laws:
Every demon is a mathematician at heart,
At home in the seventh hell of statistics.
Every scintilla collected, each iota measured,
Each ember sustained with warm breath.
Last straws gathered and categorised.
For everything begins with an itch,
A discomfort, a desire for other.
The angelic hosts slay ninety-nine
Point nine nine of the unrighteous.
The demons nurture the resistant few.
They know that majorities are powerless.
That it is the minority that always spark a new inferno,
That say: why? That plot and saw through the bars,
That dig out the mortar with their fingernails.
The invisible, the insignificant, the disregarded, the despised.
The debris of universes drifting together.
The small becomes great. No blame.
The well has run dry. Nothing furthers.
Seek elsewhere for survival.
The fittest have slaughtered each other.
—
simonhlilly 