Some nights, when the moon,
is nothing but a silver coin,
the back of my neck,
itches with that symbol.
A QR code, they call it,
quick response, instant,
access to another world.
In line at the grocery store,
a woman behind me,
scans it with her phone,
curiosity dancing,
in the corners of her eyes,
as if she’s found,
a portal to my secrets.
But all she gets is,
a simple redirect,
to a blank webpage,
a digital cul-de-sac,
where nothing awaits,
but white silence,
coded in forgotten pixels.
I suppose it could be,
a metaphor, this tattoo,
a modern symbol,
for the way people touch,
the surface of our lives,
expecting to see,
everything beneath.
In a mirror, I trace,
its blocky lines, wonder,
if the artist knew,
he was inscribing,
more than inked skin,
that elegant runs of data,
could conceal, reveal.
Underneath, there’s just,
the same old muscle,
tendons like twine,
blood cycling through,
its hidden channels,
no quick response,
only slow understanding.
-
Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: November 27th, 2024 16:43
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 13
Offline)
Comments2
This poem has a creepy, kind of surreal feel of a dystopia where barcodes are all that is needed. Very nicely, composed and constructed.
Thank Soren, I appreciate your feedback.
BRAVO
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