Cyberpunk

Round ears curl silver coils of sounds, across nose stands glass bridge in worm-fog, always under construction. Every sense a degree, and digression, and distraction. This is technology: rubber sneakers, cotton threads, titanium screw implants capped with fool’s gold. Then that hardened heart lumbering loose without nails full of sloth a snail’s shake ebbs &…

Sestina’s Radio

My left speaker falsifies me, crackles, hisses, clichéd toad. I turn my right speaker to you. Surf wax fills the air, wave tubes squeezed tight. An unreal bird sings, pierces my ear with a ring, and to my radio welds me, night’s station holding tight, while in the surf singing toads fill the ringing air…