Sharp angles, empty spaces,
when your thoughts have been beaten by the sound
of endless chatter and permanent novelty
and more of this nothing
to click on and click through
to tap with your flesh and make electric your dreams
to be categorized, sorted,
and fully known.
And it’s a fight
to drag your mind through the scribbles and static
to make outwards your inner disorder
for others to live in.
The drive in this poem is super, as you gather more and more images moving through the lines.