By the time we reach Swarm One, addiction has consumed both speaker and reader: “Lucid unrelenting pain proponent, we were somehow winged/with gigantic stingers all over our skin. Nobody can touch us anymore.” The emotions of the speaker echo what the reader is feeling. The scene is too painful to endure, and yet too alive to pull away from. We are completely consumed.
From that peak moment of unity, immediately we are plummeted into dregs of emotional despair. Swarm Two blasts us with a scathing dose of realization: “Nobody can save us . . . Ashes ashes we/used to think we were interesting. Now we are nothing/but rotten fritters that would eat until nothing remains.” With that slap to our consciousness we are faced with a mirror of entrails that are both otherworldy and our own, and we think this must be the end, this must be where reality strikes and someone is saved. But no, Copy and Pasty My Eyes shows us that there is no happy ending to be found in this tale. Clarity is not to be found. “Here, at the entrance/exist, blinding dust is everywhere.