No Theme Chosen
Other texts enact Facebooking, Twitter verses.
Technical articles establish computer crashes.
Hieroglyphic ideograms snow plows in Alaska.
Extended abstracts summarize communication in Florida.
Manufactured articles establish from China.
Early texts enact Twitter verse
Complex ideograms squall.
Higher parities maintain run out of cake and ice-cream
Original articles featured on local news, Fake-news...
Such pretenders chef, never saying their grace...
English abstracts pull who uses dictionaries anymore
Numerous pretenders matters not why? no theme chosen?
9/24/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
credible
diologue,
pervasive
graphic
amalgam
of forms-
infused
by the poetic
became
visual
textual
ideograms
It's brilliant how one seguays into the next, flashing on the
pennon of this new-age attempt to plagerise the etch-a-sketch, and
if you watch closely, if
you count your bits and bites, your digital copies of digital recordings transferred from
magnetic tape and stones chisled with ideograms and heiroglyphic symbols-
maybe you'll find that in a hundred years we will no longer express ideas in vowels and
consonents, clumsy representations of the noises made by oscillating tissues and shifting
palletes-
Prepare to discard your medium for storage
your verbatim verbal fencing weapon is dulled and oxidized-
prepare to shed truth and solidarity.
Press any key for ecstasy. (5.99aminuteforthefirstfiveminutes)
Transitory Mirror
Dark pools look back
These eyes
Now slow mark their lines
Crows feet emotions
With sun kind smiles
Older now
As they stare
Their sparkle sheen
Hides the so many things
Times have come
Gone into an Iris of thought
The lookouts of my soul
Wonder at themselves
Behind me
Spent seconds of captured light
Ricochet in sadness and laughter
And draw their features
In ideograms of tears
To their corners
Here where my dreams reside
And where my fear can hide
Gentle brown they seem now
Of one time darkness confiscated
And madness rims
In their violence no longer becomes
The person beneath them
But echoes still
All the footprints of life
Stranger they are to the knowing
Recognition reflecting
The thronging colours reassemble
And presume to know me
The lover me
The hidden me dips the razor in cold clear water
And carries on shaving
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