image from layeredapps.com
poem submitted to "This or That, Vol. 30," poetry contest, Edward Ibeh, sponsor, Auigust 7, 2026
The static rises~ not as sound, but as a pale geometry folding itself across my mind~ a lattice of bright interference, a trembling veil where meaning dissolves into a thousand flickering fragments. I move through it like a figure drawn in chalk, blurred at the edges, half-erased by the world’s restless shimmer. Every step fractures into a scatter of white noise, as if the ground itself cannot decide what it wants to be. The signal~ the one I seek, the one that should thread through the static like a single clear line~ remains absent. Not silent, but absent, as though Divinity has folded itself into a dimension my soul cannot reach. I lift my thoughts like antennas, broken, thin and trembling, hoping to catch even the faintest pulse of the Unseen. But the static thickens, becoming a bright fog of unmade meanings, a shimmering illusion that vibrates where truth should be. In this white-noise maze, I am both seeker and lost signal~ a wandering frequency searching for the point where the noise will break, where the veil will thin, where the Unseen will finally answer with light.
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