I was soldering dreams on a PCB,
Fighting a chip that refused to agree.
Multimeter in one hand, wire in the other—
Voltage spikes like no one’s bother.
Then came the call—a soft little beep,
Right when my circuit fell asleep.
I picked it up with a sigh so tall…
Didn’t expect you on that one-minute call.
"Hey, resistor brain, still alive?"
You joked as my heart hit overdrive.
My logic gates all flipped to high,
Capacitors charged, and so did I.
You said you missed me (with static delay),
I said, “Same here,” in my ohm-ish way.
We laughed about wires and life on hold—
Your voice was warm, my soldering cold.
No datasheet ever warned of this,
That love could spark with just a kiss—
Of words so quick, yet somehow deep,
That made my digital heart lose sleep.
Oh darling, in circuits, I deal with noise,
But your voice cuts through, brings quiet and poise.
That one minute call? Just sixty small seconds…
Yet my entire heart it somehow re-sequenced.
So call me again, like a rising sine wave,
In this tangled breadboard life I brave.
Because in a world of signals and sprawl,
You're the only frequency I want to call.
avoid the existential
to dare to build forever
grasping towards intangibles
manifest through the culture
eating the creature we must
create, all serpentine with
viral psionic mandibles
god undoubtedly real
held captive in our future
perfect paleolithic
project, a work in progress
there is no time to worship
the only worship is work
the idiot engineers
weave the wireless tapestry
suicide booths and sexbots
born inorganically
beautiful dreams from tv
we do not wish to be here
utopia is at hand
I
watched
attentively as
each fold was
creased so carefully and precisely,
and then tested with great care to exact the chosen form.
It was made worthy
of long, sustained
flight to compete
with the other
boys, whose
fathers also
taught them the basics of
aerodynamics from the
kitchen
table.
Colonial master:
A lot was doing faster
Many stubborn chains able to loosen
Like the vessels whom Christ had chosen.
Colonial master:
Hatefully fought by Rasta
But they were also safeguarding Jamaican rights,
Which sometimes would their sanctity lose
In the darkness of tragic nights
At the hands of The Conquered by booze.
This Great Master though was a great slave
To every African cultivable soil
And ready to hysterically rave,
If we twice looked in the direction of our own crude oil
Ever willing to perish wherever it was in huge deposits:
An assertion of blacks and white being irreversible opposites
More than fifty years now he our bridges built,
Whose survival lengthen our Engineers’ guilt
For having worn the same bowler hats
And chances had to use the same enormous CATS
Beside daring to look as much decisive
In the rarest of bow ties, very massive!
Completing task, Running fast
Handwriting gets dirty
Still their books are pretty
From sleeping late at night, till getting up on time
Struggling hard to make themselves look fine
Working hard, achieving goals
Learning so fast, so that they win
Engineers are serious enough
To live their dreams
Engineers know
to build in redundancies
when lives depend
not necessarily exact replicas of the primary unit
but systems whose secondary function
is to carry the load when a primary system
fails.
The principle applies
to all organisms and the inanimate
objects designed to support them.
But the sun
and the rock
that is earth
need no redundancies.
Burning, cooling
one
of each, they disintegrate
without feeling
for the mantle or the planets.
Some individuals
may, it turns out, be irreplaceable.
There is not always another girl singer
this one is the only one for us
at this time, while we're alive
in this place with the random weather.
The one singer, leader
the one who interprets God's words
when she is assassinated, terminated, released
we are not released, velocity
registers a mandatory, momentarily momentous
palpitation that is gone
unlike Shakespeare
so far. She
was not the sun.
But she was found
to be irreplaceable, unique
her song.
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