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Tell a Vision
Tay Tufenkjian
Neon pixels,
living plasma years old,
still young, illuminated.
The futuristic power that
showed up early for its appointment with the century.
It had the advantage of surprise,
and though the Churchills of progressive
menace cried,
It commands.
Can you turn your eyes away?
Heads involuntarily upward,
those omnicolored pixels scream,
“Look at me: I am your
youngest and loudest child.”
Maybe whatever is transpiring
in that rectangular insect, antennae flailing,
Matters.
You look.
Pleasure, carcinogenic joy.
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Italo Calvino
“Traveling, you realize that differences are lost: each city takes to resembling all cities, places exchange their form, order, distances, a shapeless dust cloud invades the continents.”
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