The mind
shatters into
digital confetti,
with attention
fractal,
like light through broken glass.

The world’s megaphone mouth
grows hoarse with selling,
while you search for
a pocket of silence and
folded origami moments,
for breath between heartbeats.

There is you in the untouched hour
when screens sleep their electric dreams
and there is remembrance of your bones.

Reclamation:
not a raucous revolution
but the quiet refusal
to be elsewhere
when you are
here.

 

17/5/2025