1MAMTeR

Not Who You Think on Drums

(a speculative poem in fractured cadence)

Australia strikes the match—
a peace plan unfurls like parchment in wind,
inked with complaints of monopolies,
German-Russian biotech empires
spinning helixes into profit,
while client states of madness
file injunctions against the Head—
not who you think on drums,
but the one who syncopates sanity
into market tears.

Above, Mars bruises red with war,
its dust choking the orbital ambitions
of Earth-bound empires.
Dominance dwindles—
not with fire, but with questions:
What is AI,
if not a mechanical muse
in procurement’s theater,
where developers shake the tree
and language falls like ripe fruit
into competing hands?

Palestinians, in quiet defiance,
offer refuge—not to bodies,
but to regeneration politics,
a science exiled from post-WW2 corridors
where terror once wore a bureaucrat’s tie.
Now it returns, misunderstood,
like jazz in a parliament,
like prophecy in a spreadsheet.

And somewhere,
beneath the din of treaties and trade,
a rhythm pulses—
not who you think on drums,
but someone keeping time
with the tremor of transformation.

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Would you like to explore this further as a narrative fragment, a manifesto, or perhaps a speculative dispatch from Mars?

https://youtu.be/xhEZC7vDUMA?si=CfUpM9hnPsfbDlu0