[7] Seven Subdivisions in Time

[7]

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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