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Soon I will turn on the WiFi,

Voices will crash into my many days silence,

Opinions and demands will slide like drops of poison,

Into the highway of my blood,

And coagulate into the low frequency panic,

The harmonises my life.


In this drought of data,

My imaginings flourish,

And I see into the shadows of myself,

Where colours have names I’d forgotten,

And I have longings as wide as the sky in the desert,

And as numerous as the misty exhale of stars,

That make up the Milky Way.


She’s hard to find,

This technicolor clone of mine,

And light as air.


The many mega-bit per second momentum,

Is just heavy enough,

To displace her completely…



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