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Then It's White

The hypnosis imposed
by weary repetition
loops —as the sun
sets and rises—
and a processed snatch of
sounds collects— overpowered
by the undue uncertainty
of life; overwhelmed by not
knowing and the
endless amount of time waiting
ahead.
These sounds, these sensations—
already memory—
is captured, collected in
old tapes, decades passing,
gradually crumbling as they play—
the fine coating of magnetic
metal slivering off,
music decaying slightly
through each revolution on
the spindle of the future;
fog-seeping arrhythmia,
breathing feedback,
crackle to fade: stasis
gleaming.
Images lay in ruin—
an elegy for the day;
requiem for the night—
whittled away—
smoke billowing from
the smoldering city below,
disintegrating in the drone
of dejected fanfares—
anxious,
encroaching dread nestled
in the
uneasy ripples of social distortion,
shimmers of infinity drenched in
an acid bath.
The inherent imperfections
wash, incremental silence
moving like waves tearing
at the sands of thought,
tracing them on the shore—
cracks appear, tumble
toward the void, loosening
what is left and
what has vanished.
Vibrations of all-encompassing tension,
incidental music twittering,
no relief pulsing
as the world falls apart—
leaving things to simply settle,
all returning to dust,
space expanding
between everything,
edging closer
to darkness….
Then it's
white….
Then it's
white….
Then
it's
wh ite….
And so it goes….

poem by Tim Stensloff
Added by Poetry Lover
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