Warriors

We meet in binary space;
the ID girl and me.
Digital froth,
cloaked in faceless anonymity.
Still, her light shines through, hard,
piercing with virtue.
Blue,
like the glow
hiding veins from junkies
in railway station washrooms.
Tracks on tracks.
Courage, she demands.
I counter—courage
is chemical.
She spits hope,
then faith.
I say, with both
or neither,
a syringe’ll still find its way
to flesh.
And grace is hidden
in the sharpest corners;
needle-points,
and glassy pain.
She tells me chance
favours a prepared mind.
I say, when you have nothing left to lose,
keep stabbing the dark
until you do.