"leds" poems
**Festivals of my
land are**
Filled with
The brilliance of colors..
The elegance of attire..
The resonance of lights..
The flamboyance of richness..
Of
The essence of laughter..
The sense of happiness..
The fragrance of love ..
The immence feeling of Joy..
The exuberance of festivities..
The relevance of celebration..
The Perseverance of culture..
Its all about
My Motherland....
My India..
Yes !! Its that time of the year
When 1/7 th population of the world
celebrates
The Festival of Lights..
On the dark night of No Moon ..
The whole country is filled
with lights..
From earthen lamps and LEDs
To
Celebrate the win of
Good over evil..
To celebrate
The homecoming -
after the win..
The brightness of lights..
The purity of air..
The brimming faces..
The laughter echoes..
Elders, kids, adults
all come together,
To fill the land with
Sparkles and Divinity....
Diwali it is !!
Diwali it will be !!
The festival of love..
The festival of respect..
The festival of sharing..
The festival of caring..
The festival of loving..
The festival of giving ..
!!!
**
Sharing,
Caring,
Loving,
Giving....
The young kids rhyme..
We teach them by action,
That we want them
to remember...!!
Happy Diwali..
The festival of lights..!!
**
Sparkle In Wisdom
Nov 2018
Nov 3, 2018
Nov 3, 2018 at 8:43 AM UTC
And here in this windless hole, I sit and wonder where I had left that which mattered most to me under the starlit fields of Montreal. I crave it and yet wish to God that I had never been the man who held you close to me. Everything I had in my arms in the parking lot outside of that hotel dash turned dash residence. A messy room and a crowded cafeteria. A hotel dash turned dash residence dash turning dash memory. And here in this wonderless ******** in this airtight cabin of past fantasy’s design, the rent keeps piling up and oh the dishes are due. Half-finished paperback classics flapjacked on top of each other in this white shirt no sweat world with the sleeves rolled up. This pill form city with all the charm and magic of an after dinner mint. Take a walk with me, let me tell you about this dream I had.
It had wine
and white sheets and tables.
Paintings that I knew
but did not recognise,
gasping under the grip
of yellowing wallpaper with pink flowers.
It was hell,
hell I tell you.
waking up with fever thinking I was portuguese and that there were three of me
Remembering when you sat me down,
and told me who I was in all of
two paragraphs- underline this underline that.
Black and red LEDs in full contrast of the room turning real again.
All I remember is you.
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 10:23 PM UTC
It’s a hot summer afternoon, perfect in every way,
A time to enjoy and relax, loll about and play.
But the afternoon’s long shadow of darkness makes it clear,
That for a particular group of students, disaster is near.
And this unfortunate bunch march into a hot class that noon,
With filled stomachs and eyes full of blissful slumber,
But still, there is a sense of impending doom in the air, and soon
The class will have to face up to a nightmare they fear.
Then at half past one a man walks in,
He smiles and says,“ good afternoon, class, lets begin!!”
The sir then starts his physics lecture,
Much to the students agony and dismay,
And while they curse and snarl silently like a mangled cur,
They wish they had never lived to see this day.
And in no time the teacher sends out a barrage,
Of “physics”, from lasers to parallel rays, characteristics of a coherent light source,
Reflection, Wein’s displacement, sinusoidal wavefronts and an electron’s charge,
He shouts his voice out till he goes hoarse.
I too, as part of that class, try,
To make sense of the gibberish spoken,
But its hopeless, I give up with a sigh,
I doubt his explanation could be understood by the smartest of men…
And in the sweltering heat of the afternoon, with the lecture being a bore,
The students just can’t listen to him, but can certainly do a lot more…
And within minutes of the lecture the class is in its own world,
Where life by quantum physics is not obscured…
Boys start throwing paper pellets at one another,
While mocking the teacher behind his back,
Meanwhile the girls giggle and nudge each other,
Laughing at the jokes they crack.
And oblivious to all that is going on around him,
The teacher goes on to say why the LEDs glow dim.
And I am caught, in a whirl,
Of various activities all around me,
And while I pen down a poem, think about my favorite girl,
I am amazed at the sight I do see…
The class becomes more and more unruly, falling apart,
And at a certain point it is too much and hence,
The sir stops talking about the critical value, and does start,
To take the class’s attendence.
No sooner is the roll call done that the herd stampedes out,
With many a push, a yell and a shout.
The same phenomena will occur again next week,
Isn’t it an example of college life at it’s peak?...
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 10:42 AM UTC
Oh Darling,
don't sanctify me as a higher being,
your salvation out of your rut.
the world is a green moist sponge,
and I am just another dihydrogen oxide molecule trapped
in it's fibers
crying for salvation
screaming for baptization
waiting for nothing
and although you think in binary terms.
I think in decimal
and yet
we are the stigma
of the guy
and the gal
in this dream of dreams.
a heiress of confession
I am here
surreal and every single inch
made out of stardust
to remind you...
Remember Montague
and the frosted lake?
where we built the blanketfort
among the trees
for the child
and lit her world
with dazzling LEDs,
as she stared in the tent
higher than fools
talking nonsense words
about the world
and her feelings
because she's so sad
and because she's so mad
because no one cares
except her
and her watering eyes.
she says.
I have no one.
And you can't do anything about it, starwhale
because that's the way I like it.
Apr 24, 2012
Apr 24, 2012 at 1:00 AM UTC
Love in the time of LEDs
“Honey, I’m just not feeling it”.
She said this to me, constantly.
“The moon and the stars and the planets
sing to me, an orchestra of nature and
eternal time intertwined.”
“Mother nature directing this divine symphony.”
“These new lights just don’t do it for me.”
We traveled here and traveled there,
over many a year.
Then one night ,
One full harvest moon night,
High on a cliff,
Deep in the night,
Silent and still and cold,
She shed every stitch that covered her frame
And opened her arms to the celestial rain.
Rays from heaven pouring down,
illuminating her shape,
saturating Earth’s lovely ground.
Dancing about,
With not a trace of restraint,
The moon and stars and the night
Sang to her soul,
Sang to every fiber of her being,
Sang to her every bone.
‘You see, Mother Nature knows the cycles that feed the soul.’ she whispered to me, in her soft and sultry voice.
Watching, transfixed, drawn into the dance,
surrounded by stars twinkling,
Milky Way flowing,
Waking from this trance,
I tapped out a message,
read it aloud,
I QUIT!
I quit selling LEDs and the bright artificial lights.
I quit this nightmare of a job!
I quit this life of a thief,
this one of stealing the stars!
I quit this very night!
I threw my smart phone over the cliff,
each article of clothing removed,
following quick.
I stood bare under the moon,
Bare under the stars,
Bare under the planets
And bare to Mars.
Well? I asked hesitantly,
hope having dimmed for so many a year.
‘We’ll see.’ she replied to me
A tiny smile appearing upon her lips,
A small promising twinkle coming to her eye,
For the first time in all these many years.
For the first time my heart leapt,
beating with this hint of hope,
beating with joy,
under this majestic,
star studded,
inky black,
huge moon filled,
cold,
silent,
magical,
night sky!
Dec 24, 2021
Dec 24, 2021 at 5:52 PM UTC
It’s Friday night and a group of us, the ‘university summer fellows’ (Quinn, Jammie, Monique, Lisa and I) are going groovin’. Quinn, a Harvard man (we’ve shed our jaundiced opinions of him), assured us he knows the Boston bar scene. We’re going to test that.
We told him we wanted to sway to whimsical beats and chase vivid, neon lights across dance floors, like a bunch of cats - till the hours get wee. His plan is for us to pop-in the “touristy” places, like ‘the Havana Club’, ‘the Manray club’, ‘Garage Boston’ and ‘The Grand’, we’re so 111. As usual, Charles is our party mom, escort and driver.
When Peter and I were in Saint-Tropez, earlier this summer, there were beach clothes - dresses, skirts and men's shirts - where they’d woven micro-LEDs into the flowered, dry-wick, fabrics. I think the effect is amazing, friday, and joyous. I got two skirts for everyone (all of my roommates). Tonight Lisa and I are wearing a couple of them.
Funny. I’ve mentioned it before, but Lisa‘s an audrey. Her school friends and roommates are all used to it, we’ve been exposed, we have built up immunity. But Quinn’s a newbie, when Lisa came into the living room, LED glittered and lookin-right, he was literally stunned. He froze, for a microsecond, his face went blank and his fingers wiggled, as if disconnected from his overloaded central nervous system.
*** Jammie said, having just turned around, “holla at ya brooke!,” he declared, shaking his head in admiration. “Umm mmm,” he added.
“I’m sure.” Lisa said, starting to transfer things from her everyday bag to her glittery clutch, the girl cannot accept a compliment. Quinn, coming out of it, cleared his throat.
We’re ready. Let Friday night begin!
Jun 30, 2023
Jun 30, 2023 at 12:12 PM UTC
there's basically
no difference between
clouds and fog, and
thunderstorms and reduced visibility
have both put the fear of God in me;
loving you is all
pain and lust, interchangeable,
interchangeable. slippery
squealing synthesizers, aching
for your touch and
dying to throw these
LCDs and LEDs and private
snapchats into the Recycle
Bin,
and I am glittering in the dark, swerving
across the median, drunk driving
on the thought of seeing you just a little
sooner than never.
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 8:28 PM UTC
It’s December and my roommates and I are deeply into Christmas. We’ve got a little 3ft tall Christmas tree with about fifty-thousand little multicolor LED lights on it (LEDs because we ARE saving the planet). We’re in the ‘study period’ right before finals and It’s a lowkey Saturday night.
Lisa and I were pajama’d and gelaxing in our suite’s common room. She was in a tan easy chair and I was slouched on our red corduroy couch, my slippered feet up on a white coffee table. We had a Christmas playlist playing throughout the suite, a ‘Christmas lights of Paris’ Youtube video streaming silently on our TV and cups of Keurig brewed hot-chocolate with little marshmallows.
Leong came out of her room and joined us, taking a seat on the far side of the couch with me. After a moment she stretched-out, putting her head in my lap. I love her jet-black, cornsilk hair and it wasn’t long before I found myself stroking it, a gesture primates have been making since the pleistocene period. When Lisa glanced over at us and smiled, I started making gestures like I was looking for fleas in her hair and eating them - in a silly, momentary comedy lost on Leong.
We got back from November recess a few days ago. After three years together, it was easy, almost automatic, for us to fall back in our rhythms as roommates. On arrival, I glanced through my drawers, ***** clothes and shelves, taking a casual inventory. Everything was as I remembered it but still, everything had the feel of trivial leftovers from some lost civilization.
I got a new M3-iMac, it’s really the best platform for putting docs side by side. The first thing I did was hit ‘restore my setup’ from the cloud. I love futzing with tech - I can remember when that kind of restoration would have taken all day - but fifteen minutes later I could tell from the files on my desktop that everything was restoring nicely.
As I sat back on my office chair watching the restoration, I felt myself relax. THIS was real life, this was how life should be done. No matter what else I’d done or where else I’d gone - this was how my life should be - at school, with friends, facing those challenges. It was a peek-moment.
It was an illusion that my little iMac welcomed me back, like an old friend, as it finished restoring - wasn’t it?
Dec 5, 2023
Dec 5, 2023 at 10:30 AM UTC
This sadness never ends. Parade of Scars.
A broken glass, broken hands.
Concrete walls, a soldierhead,
the memories will trick you.
A ritual of ghosts, angels of death,
attitude adjustment, auto-inflicted destruction.
Forceful behavior leds to the blackest tears,
empty eyes, empty minds,
prosthetic minds of fear and greed.
Live the American dream, unleash the ultimate scream!
Man spricht Deutsch
und die Alarme begann zu läuten.
Warum?
This could be anywhere in the world,
march on the kingdom of the dead,
we came to conquer!
Live the American dream, unleash the ultimate scream!
Carriers of the plague,
everything invaded, redemption.
This time's for real,
why do you tell me all these lies?
My patience is getting shorter
and killing you is killing me.
We stand as one, harvest, sacrifice...
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 9:40 AM UTC
on cloudless days we besmirch the suns reign
the spirit hankers for Autumn
the baltic coast apposite
launches thy being by the northern skies,
a trinity of light leds to the caucasus plains
to reveal Edens gardens
and locate cultivars of apple
and vine
to graft onto our dying seasons
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 4:03 PM UTC
the light pulses
flashes
draws you in
it narrows
and widens
can’t block out that glow
it flickers
Begging for your attention
Like a helpless moth
You're flying towards it
Confused
This isn't the real light
These girls, like neons they got you
These numbers they flickering like the halogen
and they got you
They promising everlasting love like LEDs
and it got you
Got you frantic
chasing that lime light
You're in that frame
Shine bright like the sun
Staring at it too long
and you’ll go blind
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 12:12 AM UTC
the hues of black
of the object in front of me
closely vibrates each shade of the spectrum of worldly colors
showing them self
they warn me
their caution to better my own
the chemical begins to gnaw at my ego
the green hallway to nowhere in my brain
where the monsters chased me as a child
where I’d run to hide away
seem endless
terror doesn’t live here
flashes of LEDs shining through the bottles of mezcal next to mescaline laying on the table
remind me you don’t live there
listen to the sounds of a voice you don’t want to hear
block out that **** you say
god I don’t even know
what day is it?
Sep 28, 2020
Sep 28, 2020 at 8:44 PM UTC
Grievous
I hold you as the chameleon with his spring-trigger bone
Holds his tongue
And I will catch you as a fist
I will lick the stench from your odor sacks
as a skunk
All those creepy little fragments
bugs in the system;glitched codes
they are shackled souls in a microsecond arc-length
of the universal
Prodding the dirt
and the worms
as stars
How about all the spice trees?
The many different species of food glitter
they make the buds sparkle, they are thinking of the taste
of umami, of sour, of patchwork gaze
the cooked vestibules of bone
the marrow, seeping into the stew
The pepper trees are smoked
equinoctial bonfires
You and I are yet to be cooked through
A taxi in the trader joes parking lot
Big repetitive 7's splattered across its paneling
I won't forget when i'm drunk or inebriated somehow
The tree in the center of town is lit up with LEDs
Branches curling like worms
You are Pharos, you are the great celestial beam
you are the crescent moon, thin as a sleeve
and the hot taste of batter on your breath
the way you let my Guinness cool off next to the space-heater
and give me yogurt from the local townsfolk
Everything is creamy, you said.
But i don't like to hear that
It's a steel rod into my brain, that.
I am a simple Vishnu Hare Brahma
I do not have any purpose but to be enlightened
and worshiped for my powerful odors
and a four-chambered bowel
that makes the turn easier for worms.
2
Pitiful
You are the hopeless pod
the many wildebeest, crossing their annuals
through twirling water-crocs,
Lion Prides
Leopards shifting within the brush
Bacterial infections from ***** tusks
Strange metal boxes
No 7's on this side
I want to blow the ******* skulls off of anything
that aims for you, sweet mare
45-70
Will literally send chunks of it into orbit
Lion or Turtle or window or Children
The most godly thing is a bullet
And the streams of blood that will seed a new ravine
and seep the next feed of riverrun
Will you be mine, then?
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 4:39 AM UTC
I'm looking through at the joys
Which are traveling slowly
On these dim LEDs tonight.
There is eternal love
Behind one of the doors,
And behind plenty of others
There exists a world
Where we begin to dissolve,
But our surface area increases greatly.
Will we luck out,
Or are we destined to call this audible?
I don't know why you
Are coating yourself in this
Jagged exterior of elitism
When you know all too well
How Faust squandered his soul.
Don't tell me I'm repeating my mistakes
Because you don't understand
That I'm bettering myself,
As you glare in to my consciousness
Through your kaleidoscope
Where everything must look like paradox.
Let me think for myself now.
I've weighed the advantages
More times than you have,
And I promise you,
These circumstances are far better.
Love to you is like the Monty Hall Problem,
And you always think there's a bigger prize
Behind the next door.
You aren't increasing your fortune,
And that's not how you win.
I'd say you're not using game theory very well,
And I'd posit that's no way to live your life.
You want to feel calculated and powerful
By approaching love with your Id fully wanting,
And wanting the apex of what it can obtain.
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 11:21 PM UTC
I yearn to someday make something of utmost individuality.
But it seems today I'm pensively turning blank pages perpetually.
It seems I'm marred, and it's
macrame macrame, same thing every time.
Presumably, light of it comes, but with what am I left as it goes?
Retinal scarring! Badum poots.
Maybe some knots in the cords of my back and creases down the corners of my every smile.
What comes up
must go down
dimple dimple frown frown
Come on outside for a while!
Sunshine daisy daffodil!
Hills and valleys, mountains
and canyons it's a whole
life story out there
But then I sit down
sit down,
and pluck the same strings
same strings.
Different order
same strings.
What'sit bring?
What's it bring?
Today I sit down
sit down
to tell you a story.
It's a short story,
but it's also a long story.
Like a mountain range you see from miles away without walking it's entire length.
I was a little monster with blinders on.
I took to my parents in a way of which I'm not too fond.
I was an orb of obsession and wrinkles of scorn on her forehead.
I was particles and waveforms trying to ride a bicycle.
I was ropa vieja mistaken for some kinda soup.
Papá!
You taught me how you saw the workings of the universe but you worked it like a cockroach. You turned me into low tail low tail grinding on the guard rail. Ready to flip over the side and tumble tumble crash. I was ready to die. You sewed my face onto screens of LEDs screaming with the cries of unclothed children. and you left me crying Mäma!
Mäma!
Saving grace grave face I'm sorry for what he's done to you. I see the weight of over two decades worth of ball and chain dead leaves still dangling from your eyelashes. I see you ripping them out from the roots when it gets to be too much. I solemnly sit beside you at that cursed kitchen table trying to wish on as many of my own so that yours may grow back without any fault. Oh, but I see them sprouting out all crooked in all directions and whenever you bat an eye you run the risk of years of silent tears tumbling on back in an attempt to finally be heard.
I've learned that no truth will come from the wishes you make on the lashes you take with force. Let 'em go with grace. Leave them alone and let them fall from your face like the loudest raindrops.
Our wishes come true just as we speak —
and listen...
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 3:20 PM UTC
Has it rained in your heart
and have you buried all of those
drowned kissing frogs?
The saturated coastal trail leds
you further away.
Yet I recall the days
your postcards were postmarked
Polegate with the best of Sunshine intentions
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 5:31 PM UTC
The white LEDs shine bright
Like the unwanted pseudo-stars they are
The living room that houses the sofa I am lying down on
Has white walls that reflect the bulbs' light
Almost as if they were mirrors
The lights hit my face the way lights hit faces,
In less than a snap of the fingers,
It still feels like it's dark, to be frank
It's the kind of darkness you experience
When a blanket is over your head
While you're camping on a starless, moonless night
With only the tent floor as your sleeping bag
You feel the earth stabbing you in a billion different points
As the cold slowly freezes your fingers into submission
And the darkness you see is the darkness only the ones who have gouged their eyes out can describe
The pitch black of all the pitch black
The lights hit my face now like an oncoming train,
Yet I see darkness emanate out of the bulb like splashing waves on a beach
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 10:27 AM UTC
a pair of headphones with the mufflers missing
the wire that goes from said headphones to the computer
a ceramic pug in a red scarf containing tubes of paint
an ocarina that i picked up in a ghost town/tourist trap in california
a red cup for water during painting
a book called the artist's mentor
an adjustable lamp
wristbands a lover made for me
a book for savannah college of art and design featuring someone holding a large inflatable red ball on the cover
an incomplete abstract painting on canvas paper, slightly crumbled,
a box for the savannah college of art and design VR kit that they sent me
a book on writing
a book about color line and form in the visual arts
a red squishy ball inside a a fishnet containment, creating organic bulbous abscesses when squeezed
a book of poetry with a red cloth on the cover
a small packet of konpeito, a japanese sugar-based hard candy
a novelty necklace designed to resemble christmas lights, complete with glowing LEDs
a red colored pencil
a red marker
a red mechanical pencil
a gigantic anthology of american poetry i have yet to dive into
a packet of cherry jello
May 20, 2018
May 20, 2018 at 4:43 PM UTC
my vision blurs and refocuses around the sight of tamed blue fire. i am waiting for the low wheezing sound of the kettle as my mind wanders everywhere i wish it not to go. there was always tea ready for me at my therapist’s office; i think that’s where it started. we used to talk about my parents a lot, me and my old therapist. i remember telling her this one time: I love like my dad. I rage like my mom. she asked me to elaborate and i couldn’t give her much more to write down in her little notepad. i wish i’d said something about how sometimes i wish oranges could grow out of apple trees.
this is one of those days. every move i make has been pre-programmed. i grab a mug from the cabinet. i place it down on the counter. i am trying very hard not to cry. the teabag bobs to the surface so i stick my trembling finger in the water, i drown it until skin turns red and sore, and i’m thinking, You know, maybe I’m not so above it all (hurried whispers, clashing teeth, the hesitant theatre we make out of our long-starving hands). Maybe i need it, very badly. but then again, i’m not bad at being in love; it’s the being loved part that always gets me.
it's funny, isn't it? the paralyzing, nauseating threat of requited affection. funny if you’re the dissector and not the dissectee, that is. **** but isn’t that what we all want? to be seen? for someone to finally notice everything we love about ourselves and love everything we hate about ourselves? would i not rather see myself through the reflection of your eyes than my own, unforgiving? sharp bathroom LEDs can’t ever beat half-dark and candlelit. see, i know that much. but such is life. some people will walk towards the light and some people will run from it.
from the bottom of my cup, the teabag stains clear water a dark, muddy brown.
Jul 23, 2021
Jul 23, 2021 at 11:50 PM UTC
Click,
Slick,
The whir of Jenny,
Tinny Jenny on ball bearing wheels.
A slick *****
Clicks his fingers,
Jenny glides to his side,
Pen and paper in hand.
Jenny purrs,
LEDs wink under false lashes,
Mechanoid pretence at femine,
Tips a wink and lifts a steel leg under tin foil skirt.
“Your order Sir”, she chirps,
As Slick **** ***** an eye at aluminium thigh.
“Chips, silicone chips”, he replies,
Jenny’s circuits fry,
Dumb waitress cry’s light oil from glass eye.
Slick *****
Rick,
Laughs as Jenny’s electronic whine murmurs incoherent bleeps,
Systems down,
Fuses blown,
Jenny’s memory erased.
Jul 29, 2019
Jul 29, 2019 at 3:57 PM UTC
The extra split second of suspense
waiting for fingers to be release
held captive by soda-stained keys
the familiar rhythm uncomfortably disturbed
The echoing strain
as eyes feel the magnetic pull
towards an airplane TV
endlessly searching for dialogue gone MIA
Shredded fingers and cracked lips
wind-burned lungs and throbbing eardrums
pulsating temples
the familiar ache
Peeling t-shirts off of backs
making sense of childhood love
soaking in tri-colored LEDs
questioning validity
Past stages feeling like distant memories
old therapy now feeling like a chore
memories linger out of habit instead of desire
assumptions of immaturity mask diluted longing
Stringy hair from groping fingers
shattered nailbeds from shameful sabotage
magenta stains covering past identities
nighttime risks saturating your pace
Silence fills your ear at night
isolation creaks around your fingers
slow beating heart serves as a singular passage of time
as hot summer nights slowly tick by
Jun 7, 2019
Jun 7, 2019 at 1:39 AM UTC
Eyes are bloodshot staring at the alcoholic LEDs,
It would be impossible to rip them off of
The angelic glaze slathered on the screen.
Tears streaming on a face fixed for a permanent smile.
Can’t scream, not s’pposed to.
The eyes are taking in sips of wood alcohol
Littered with food coloring to make it seem like bourbon.
They know it’s not,
The burns all the same.
Eyes sleepless and fried while the screen fries itself.
Maybe it's time to shut them
Mar 29, 2020
Mar 29, 2020 at 5:07 AM UTC
The whining hum of LEDs
distract from their sneaking shadows
where pallid light
falls dimly
'round corners, walls, and vents.
White is the prescription
for walls, panels, screens
and plastic
or metal
or manufactured wood abound.
If this office were a sandwich
maybe it would be ham and cheese
but instead of ham
maybe it had tofu.
Tofu is not so bad
the taste is fine
but still
it is white
and, relatively speaking, bland.
Jan 24, 2025
Jan 24, 2025 at 12:04 PM UTC
Cliche
Cobbled
Hurried steps, desperate for footing
Up and down again
I remember when I was more paced
Uncertain and odd, there was yet truth to my movements
Invoking a sound from a texture long lost
I wonder what a round moment might feel like
Pushed against a sharpness I didn't not account for
My choices are smaller still
Whisper between the lanes of edge and acceptance
I eat an apple in my mind
But only fried potato in reality
Sickly with starch and false comfort
Down, below the dancing LEDs
There, the pit of pits
I want to scream, but only for myself
I don't want to be heard or considered
Loneliness, I am no longer offered
Maybe I'll manufacture it instead?
Push away, let you down, a crack in the reverberation
A bell toll wakes me up to a new modality
A pattern I haven't yet considered?
The dull uniformity tells me no
There is discipline, and there is me
Far from married, at war with knowledge
Cliche
Cobbled
I watch the walls of my basement crumble
The mortar turns to sand
Adhesion long dried
Dust
Dust
Dust
Dec 8, 2019
Dec 8, 2019 at 11:33 PM UTC
When my channeled radiowaves groove
and reach your ears like LEDs
(and in mind's eye explode)
with colorful remnants of unimposing
ultra all-knowing, unimportant dues
You will want (if anything)
to pick up the phone
and (to no one in particular) call
and take a taxi beneath the moon
Feb 28, 2021
Feb 28, 2021 at 6:50 PM UTC