“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Friday, May 27, 2016
Minced words atop static
Static carried on air
clings to its own non-being
i'm-potential
like white
white of poltergeists
or the white whir
i'm-between
towers
Interference splits
with pixel holders
i'm place
Spliced volumes
inaudible water
falls
These were always empty buckets
As a book is a chalice fore-
thought
Media makes masks
with hollow eyes
re
perceptive
think for me-tell me-show me
Empty
w/out your feedback
reciprocating back feed
in mixed media-the medium
is largely the message
fully charged.
Image By Darjac (Scanned by Darjac) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
And then...
Change is like that strong smell of cut grass or chopped wood that stops you still. Patterns, a symbol can be an illegible sign, at first...
-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
Today seems like a good day to burn a bridge or two. The sky resembles a backlit canopy with holes punched in it. In California...
-
This world is not for breath for feelings also come and go. As hard and light as Push and pull Go. Busy hands and bees-electricity, alter...
No comments:
Post a Comment