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Requiem for a Clone Hunter

de The Darkest of The Hillside Thickets

It seemed natural - I'd look into it.
Piece together that gap of memory.
When I tried to track down some evidence,
the lack of it was more than a little strange.

Burned up papers and wiped out hard drives and
chipless cell phones and reticent neighbours.
Did I plan out so carefully when to claim my faculties?
That's conveniently strange.

This fax from Commodore Davie
of the Royal New Zealand Navy read
"The files you requested
are now classified."

Strange parallels inside strange layer on layer.
Strange coincidences, strange inconsistencies.

Somebody trashed my apartment.
Spray-painted "STOP ASKING."
I'm being shadowed by tattooed ESL shabaroons.

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