HIGH TECH, LOW LIFE (Triple Vignette Poetry)



Too many visions
wrapped in electric dreams.
Exit eyes; enter mind.
Neon lights bleed for the first time
upon the penetration of wires.

A reality where nothing is real,
can somebody give a hint
if there someone in the mask
or another mask awaits the stripper
and another one until vagueness
become the truth?




A ghost inside the machine,
stored in a disc
running for 60 to 80 years.
Burn by lasers
scarred with needles
a montage of pixels called memories
flash in crack screen.

Rewinding, Stop
and Fast Forward;
all data will be lost.
Nothing can be save.
We are bound to be deleted
one click away.



Now the rain is glistening
against the bright red lanterns.
Like tongue of fire spit by heaven
but no one is looking above.
Nobody dreams of paradise anymore.

A set of letters and numbers,
a cord in the brain,
coitus of codes and consciousness.
Downloading Nirvana
requires an illuminated eye
by the luster of digital gods.

Head buried in ports and plug
a living dead
wandering around a dream
of liquid crystal butterflies.

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