The age of lightning fiber has smothered us;
we’re motionless in a storm of booming characters
bent on relevance, fat with legacy.
And even in my benevolent bittersweet state,
there was a record of my tarnished past,
haunting the unacceptably latent spaces.
So I charted the best path through Babel,
arrayed those booming characters, and
set out for dreamlands and their golden valleys.
On this deep-sleep destruction hunt,
I longed for explosions to disperse the steel storm,
to dizzy my mind and unsettle my stomach.
Yet as the sticky throne appeared before me,
my first chance at releasing the vile, bile currency,
I tenderly recalled the steel sky.
The memory of its slick surface sent polar chills through me,
shivering atop the high half of the Earthball,
seducing me to stay.
A carbon-borne instinct rushed through me,
urging the auspicious econogastric reversal,
which just may have stilled the storm.
As my sclera swelled red,
a heat wave swept up and through me, and
guilt-based nostalgia swung my head back to the stormy metal sky.
Yet I stole away, shattering the boom cube,
stretching my eyes in the hurricane, and
channeling the repressed, stubborn nausea.
Against the code, taking the first, the only opinion,
I leapt with my head and
leaned forward with my heart.
How annoying are references to high caffeine intake?
to vague disobedience?
to the author?
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