FLAGGED

Palantir sits in her iris like a second pupil.
ICE stands on her cheek as if the skin were territory.
A drone hovers, red lights blinking, patient as a cursor.

Grids crawl across her face.
Borders press into bone.

Across her lips: LIVE FEED.
Not freedom. Transmission.

She is luminous.
She is flagged.
She is still looking back.