The Internet is Loud

because we howl to hear.

The internet is loud:
pistons writhing under humanity,
clank-laden winds balloon in skin.

uncertainty blooms like algae,
aurora borealis smeared into
empty tepid water skies.

we communicate in taps,
blindly slapping dexterous digits
log pixelated dreams. 32 bit true

goosepimple color accelerates
freeze dried crackling pages 
roaring down fibre optic highways

that quiver like spectral hair
from prefabricated stars.
creek coils and zeros’ creaks shake as

sheets, scattered through
a whirring void, cut dully
through emerald digitality.

these coldhearted screens
in fluorescence, lit and screwed,
at home in pale ink.

To be heard, we linger in silence.

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