[7] Seven Subdivisions in Time


Beams fill up the sky,
and through toxic air they bend,
Bounce off satellites,
and in wires meet their end.
In my sterile box,
filled with polymeric synth,
I control the sculpt;
my machinery’s the plinth.

Waves are in my hands;
ones and zeros on a switch.
Modulating time,
timbre, amplitude and pitch.
From chaotic noise,
to harmonic rhythmic sines,
Through poetic verse,
my collection intertwines.

We are wired in,
just as much as we’re apart.
I am all aware,
we’re connected from the start.
I am broadcasting,
my communications stream.
Feel this system shock,
spread through our collective dream!


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