Static Screen

Some downpours are percussion
So fierce I confuse it for static hum
The world around me crackling so hard with black and white
That it has washed over in gray blur
It stirs in me a discontent
The white noise dampening my senses
My bones buzzing in winces
It’s an electric fence that keeps me aching stone still
Until I trance-walk into that ghastly screen,
Dripping, dissipating, fragmented, unseen
I will sing with the fuzz
The incessant tap dance of wet haze,
Until I melt into rhythm, swallow hard… erase

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Published in: on April 20, 2018 at 9:16 pm  Comments (1)  
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Big lots

I’m an ugly brand of cursed
I don’t know which is worse
The flimsy packaging
Or the aftertaste

Rebrand me all you try
I’m not selling out
A product of a fired staff
I’m a dream that should have died

I’m not hard to open
I haven’t gone stale
I haven’t expired
But I’m tired

Just a weird concept
Pushed into production
Devalued
And waiting to be free

Published in: on April 13, 2018 at 12:56 am  Leave a Comment  
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