They Call It

memory, they call it
pieces all floating, mixed-matching and coating
doating and bloating and close to exploding
searching for meaning in all that is muted
with options teeming but each part polluted

pixels cross over and translucent bend
wondering if those fragments can friend
or if what they call memory has an end
where memory itself cannot comprehend
for what it is called just means a blend

colors transparent sail from base to base
DATA.
creating a presence more face to face
BETA.

they call it memory
and some call it me
some call it you, we, he, or she
as a plea
pushing forth "identify me"
pressing and pulling till all want to quit
for pieces all going they flicker and flit

when all glassy colors fall into a pit
memory.
they call it.

written Oct 25, 2016 at 12:14am