Digital Cicada

Crystalline sky, like the candy apple coating to the core worm. Simple syrup drips dropwise down the apartment wall. Far below, the root node bug grabs its fill. So few can zip through the world so slowed by the sticky rain. Most are relegated to still-life staring at the radiant sky. _____________________________________________________________________________________  Bubblegum Pinkish red and baby blue.  Shifting and chafing clouds in a sunset sky.  Nothing lies below the horizon.  Empty nothingness.  I’ve been falling for a time now, but what else could I do?  Just look up at the sky and enjoy the wind in my hair. Every Sight Seen Through a Stained Glass Mural And sometimes you wish that mask would stick. And you get some mist in your face before saying something like “oh isn’t it terribly romantic!” Servile Man canoeing centre of mist, Do you hear the crumbling highway beside your lake? Or only the slick slide of your pad through water? Road of sound f...

Climbing up stems and stalks, the cicada basks in the night. Up and  down  plants in wild colours. Buzzing in the night. Across the glassy grass a tent is erected by man. Slow and steady.  With a pillow and a warm place  to lay, he unzips his skin, sets free the spirits in his bones. They burst through the tent in a poof and a cloud.  As the inner parts of man rise above, the cicada connects to its network below. Shrouded in art, its wires weave and surge towards the tent, connecting the mind of man to nature. His thoughts could barely be translated. _____________________________________________________________________________________ Won't you satisfy my divine fear, that the oaf named coy will soon be near A Dreamlike Duality Sitting still, a bridge undercover at night, Spies on water flowing freely below, Has such a different gaze under daylight, The full extent of this change we’ll never know. Two tender lovers preciously alike, Locking eyes and forgetting a...

Calmly spins the circle of being with an antsy cicada at its centre.  It leaves, lonely, and walks the wall of a lovely home. Crawls over newspaper, across books well-read. Teacups used often. And around the corner it hears. It hears softly. Here is what it hears: What’s it for? “I want to be on the same life page before we take this any further” “That sounds fair, do you have something specific in mind?” “Do you want kids?” “Yes” “When?” “I guess my plan was to get around to that after I find a career and explore the world” “What, like travel?” “More like learn as much as I can about arts and culture” “…” “I don’t think I could accept if I settled down and there were opportunities to experience different sides of life I had missed” “No one person can know everything” “But they can try” “You said career as well, research doesn’t always lend itself well to settling” “No, but if I find myself as a professor somewhere that would make me a lot more comfortable” “Since when do you rely ...