soundofmanywaters

    I am not sure if I have ever seen you, Indigo. Perhaps my heart leaped up and I Overlooked Your shyest of tinges, by brighter shades Shaded. Maybe the rain rinsed you until you Faded Into neighbouring violet or blue, or Evaporated By the sun, who likes red and gold best, you Withdrew From the bolder six, or maybe you Never Existed except in the thoughts of some Dim Numerological completist, who Wanted Your name to score a perfect seven? Hope Not, but I would like to know More people tinged with Indigo.

 Homo Disneyana Lopes through the litterscape Of the late Anthropocene Leaving a trail of  discarded identities From whose throes arises An army of the maimed. Disneyana stands, turns, Proclaims their creed as  a counter-curse: “I can be anything I want!” But the spectres unimpressed Crowd forward and The pursuit begins.  II Scrolling through the screenscape Of the early thanatocene Disneyana hopes a void  To echo their vacuity…  But the stardust drifts  into disturbing shapes Almost as if there were a mind… Jabbing out the cosmos, They ram in their earbuds And grab for a safer app -  “I’ll catalogue my selfies!” - Not to hear the Voice,  Not to see the Face: “I can be anything I want,”  “Except Yours.” III Saints Walt and Jeff, Saint Mark and Saint Elon Are gathered round the bed they lie upon. They’re watching every flicker of their eyes And planning means by which to monetise Each moment of their rapt attention. As they perform their ...