your mother marched against the war machine,
yet you tuned its gears to a purer scream.
they gave you habermas;
you gave them drones.
o engineer
of hollowed-out bones.

not lyre but server,
not song but math,
you played the code like a bloodless wrath.
where orpheus wept,
you coldly parse,
turning each tear to a profit chart.

the activist’s ghost in your circuit board murmur,
a muted alarm that never comes.
spectrum child,
prism bright,
splitting the dark from the wrong from the right.

eurydice?
just another name
in the scrolling list of the surveilled and maimed.
no descent to hell could rival this,
a soul made perfect in the database abyss.