There is a pattern of tics in my brain, all
Set to twitching in the space behind the eyes.
If I am the assembly of information under the sky,
I am not the person I am in my mind.
The moon is in the manmade pond where I sit,
dressed in sweet darkness with all the rain.
The problem is my perforated soul—
I am lanced open by the multiplicity of girls and things.
I want to trust the person I am in my thoughts, but I’m falling
Through the many inadequate sounds and words.
Rain blankets the pond—
Infinite, miniscule wave dispersion occurs, overlapping itself.
The intensity of data swerves deep beyond me:
My disappearance takes place in the world of computers.
Love for my daddy and love for a girl
Exchange glances in the digital light;
From my pocket, I draw a small, six-shot pistol—
How fascinating, to learn the system of its design!
Feb 24, 2010
Feb 24, 2010 at 7:30 PM UTC
There is a pattern of tics in my brain, all
Set to twitching in the space behind the eyes.
If I am the assembly of information under the sky,
I am not the person I am in my mind.
The moon is in the manmade pond where I sit,
dressed in sweet darkness with all the rain.
The problem is my perforated soul—
I am lanced open by the multiplicity of girls and things.
I want to trust the person I am in my thoughts, but I’m falling
Through the many inadequate sounds and words.
Rain blankets the pond—
Infinite, miniscule wave dispersion occurs, overlapping itself.
The intensity of data swerves deep beyond me:
My disappearance takes place in the world of computers.
Love for my daddy and love for a girl
Exchange glances in the digital light;
From my pocket, I draw a small, six-shot pistol—
How fascinating, to learn the system of its design!
This poem is composed of words selected from the first five lines of WORDS used by redbarchettadrive here on HelloPoetry