KYLE SLEDGE

Every thing possible to be believed is an image of truth.

Man Made Machine

Gadgets, technology, doodads galore
Every buzz, click, whir, can be such a bore
Soon, each of us will be saturated
With wires, implants, nanobots, and circuits
Chemicals from faceless corporations
Surging through our bodies in a surfeit
Complete consumer assimilation
I sit envisioning this in the woods
My back propped up by the trunk of a tree
Pondering existence for ill or good
While sunlight kisses and envelopes me
Matrices nested in one another
Networks founded just to rediscover

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A Delicate Thought

Out of the blue
The wave of you
Washes over me

The memories of
Our bayou days
Those leading to we

I didn’t know
Myself back then, much less
Your true beauty

If I could turn back time
I wouldn’t
For you found the love you seek

Sunday Funday

Cut/Copy Convergence

I see a disconnect
Division
Void forming dissension
A tear in the fabric
Of the patchwork that’s existence

Black hole borne
Precision
Light penetrates the distance
Across the universal tunnels
Dug to teach the children

A trenchant misfit
Lifted
High above the syllabuses
Syllabi should you fly
Flags bright with condescension

Almost forgot to
Mention
The purpose for invention
Of life’s whole meaning
Being rebirth, regrowth, and redemption

Everlasting Rain

Wash away the sin
Wash away the pain
Wash away the thoughts
Of drowning in the shame

Slake the harvest’s thirst
Slick the streets and drains
Flood the towns with righteousness
To unite every name

From the clouds you fall
From the gods you came
From the end to the beginning
You form life’s entire frame

Teach me to be humble
Teach me with your grace
Teach me as I kneel in awe
While tears stream down my face

Pika Virus

Looking at the world through a handheld screen
While imaginary monsters hover
Over the landscape, their colors vibrant

A little golden, electric rodent
The green, leafy toad with a guileful grin
Some reddish, pyromaniac lizard

The child’s mind dims, spatial awareness dies
With a soft, thoughtless glide of fingertips
Across the illuminated surface

As they toss forth virtual prison orbs
Stained red and white, divided by black bands
Designed to capture and incarcerate

Those which are considered to be wild beasts
Now commodities, property pieces
Trading tokens, pawns in an aimless game

Built from the ground up as misdirection
Guiding feckless youth and adults alike
Toward the blank isles of a fool’s paradise

While all the floor planners and programmers
Unseen hands and eyes of intelligence
Mold reality, studying movements

Through the keyholes of the camera phones
With abundant digital data streams
Profiling the planet’s population

Of boys, girls, men, women, doesn’t matter
The user’s age and sex is trivial
With people devolving to living dead

Vacant faces glued to flashy gadgets
Promoting false senses of unity
Buffering human connection instead

The tap water’s been laced with chemicals
To distract us from the house burning down
Predictably, it’s super effective

Sunday Funday

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