The Singular Binary Strand
The Singular Binary Strand
We must have looked like quite a pair
to the satellites that map the city through the stratosphere,
hovering like dragonflies
in empty space, measuring the slope of rooftops, fog densities,
and the volume of our bodies,
converting the topography
of the earth into an invisible stream of data.
I wonder if their antennae
twitched briefly as they tuned to the frequency of my naked
body, standing plainly under
the street light in front of your house,
watching you float smoke rings out across the dark from your porch,
while the rest of the city slept,
I look for the complexity of you and me stirring
our coffee in time behind the morning
paper; in the pixelated
terrain broadcast across the city during the evening news,
the singular strand of binary
code extrapolated from the high relief of our bodies
as we dream on the same pillow
We must have looked like quite a pair
to the satellites that map the city through the stratosphere,
hovering like dragonflies
in empty space, measuring the slope of rooftops, fog densities,
and the volume of our bodies,
converting the topography
of the earth into an invisible stream of data.
I wonder if their antennae
twitched briefly as they tuned to the frequency of my naked
body, standing plainly under
the street light in front of your house,
watching you float smoke rings out across the dark from your porch,
while the rest of the city slept,
I look for the complexity of you and me stirring
our coffee in time behind the morning
paper; in the pixelated
terrain broadcast across the city during the evening news,
the singular strand of binary
code extrapolated from the high relief of our bodies
as we dream on the same pillow
posted by Sovereign Syre at 3:38 PM
4 Comments:
wonderful as always.
As I move through your poems I can see and feel two snakes intertwining gracefully. Their movement is paced and determined, yet almost imperceptible. They tighten around my entire body. Somewhere towards the end they finally contract to the point that it feels we are going to pop-- and our red guts splatter against the surrounding white walls.
But just before that happens they slither free from one another, releasing me...only to ensure they can charm themselves again later.
I love the number love you project upon the world from the skies. I am so often looking up, I forget what it must look like looking down.
That is lovely writing.
Thank you!
xxx
A-L F
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