.
Outside is turning into,
Its own disposed pre-packaging,
Something I can wrap in a witticism,
Then whack-up online.
I live on hold,
A pulse tone pressed one,
The basement ring tone,
Music repeats,
Waiting for an answer.
Pixilated and blurrier in full screen,
Watch my life again for the best bits,
Forgetting about my future,
Going to be so so big,
But now hiding somewhere in between comments,
Inside selection criteria to key into,
And buttons for refreshing one's-self.
This is not me,
You’re looking at a bunch of words,
That I've pressed into one of my many,
Necessary, electronic devices,
Don’t look to find me here,
Nor yourself,
Nor anything else.
This is at best a map,
Set of vague instructions,
We cannot live –here-
Tonight my nights are numbered,
And re-numbered,
Overhead in a holding-pattern,
I cannot make it continue much longer,
I can fly,
But did not come to this capability,
Merely to circle the one spot.
Airborne, but we are heavy,
Acidic, sentiment, nucleic,
Chains, spiral, metabolizing,
Dividing into cells,
I can evaporate into digital mitosis,
Again and again,
Seen only in megapixels,
Followed only by my shadow,
Understood only in dimensions,
82 kilograms,
170 Centimetres,
29 years,
And 1 life,
Eaten away in attempts to describe itself,
And prescribe itself a cure.
A turn off,
One day I will turn this off,
And take that walk away,
As far as it can go.
Said my piece for tonight,
I hope this is read,
I hope that means,
Some-thing.
More will follow, of course,
But none of it as ironic,
As this simple fact,
When at last that I feel like saying no more,
And that walk-away-day dawns,
I will have reached the point…
Where I will really be saying something.
____________________________________
-Peace
.
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