“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Wednesday, June 22, 2016
Geocentric gluttony
The body is a satellite,
it probes the air around
taking in
bits and streams, intervals
in waves two miles per second
perpetually.
Its sensors are set
on hyper-sensitive,
it blinks and thinks
oft from aloft,
flashing reflections
for frozen photos
at shuddering speeds.
Collecting all inertial information,
which is then converted
upside-down
into mirror images larger
than they may seem.
Orbitally over and over obituary,
that last time around-
when all the light hits just right
for focusing fractally...
-Halo-
By and bye,
balance comes alone
as attitude control.
A hovering soul,
holding a body in space
that filter feeds on forces
consuming raw data
for a sensual feast
with a heavy tip
for the payload.
Image by NASA and originally uploaded to wikipedia by Reubenbarton [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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