Ones and Zeros

I was listening to music this
Carpathian death klezmer band
On earphones because nobody else wants
To hear this crap: but these dudes have something magic going except
The tone was muddy or shrill
A clumsy staircase had been hewn from a more graceful slope
Everyone got smushed into the middle range
Breaking up
Ones and zeros ones and zeros

I was viewing a folder of files
Of pictures of my family on our last archaeological expedition
To this industrial burial ground
The resolution was unclear
I tried zooming in
Until everything was tiny squares
Pixels aren’t as cute as they sound
It’s broken down
Ones and zeros ones and zeros

I try to be fiscally responsible
Notwithstanding excessive Stilton and gulab jamun expenditures
I logged in to my 401K
I was looking over my investment
The time signature of the algorithm was obscure to me
It was fading away & dwindling
Breaking away-
Ones and zeros ones and zeros

I virtually quit and actually went outside
Where clouds moved across the sky
They were armchairs dragons fondue pots
I bit into an apple
It was firework waterfall June of 1978 forgiveness
And a kiss
Which I passed on to my daughter
Later there was a real rain
And useless things washed away


About nitrovonborax

The Mighty Arthammer of von Borax strikes the Anvil of Universal Consciousness, forging Iconic Singularities of Metaphor. Nitro von Borax is widely recognized as the natural heir to the crumbling facade of an empire that Thomas Kinkade built with massmarket hack-retouched cottagey papscapes, which glow as though lit by pernicious chip-grease fires within and trigger pleasurable dissociative transport to the plebian viewer. Mr. von Borax, known to his discerning, sophisticated & politically progressive fans as "The Painter of Sprinkly Sparkles," pulls inspiration from Betty & Veronica BOTH, stolen travel brochures & comic books, Martin Denny & Italian Giallo Movies to visualize and manifest pure unfettered awesomeness for your astral excursions. His portfolio resonates at a frequency only bats can hear.

Posted on January 17, 2015, in Poems and Literary Peccadillos and tagged . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: