There are rooms
Inherent to dreams
No words could explain
Upon waking
Like windows
Without any context
Peering inside
What has passed

Where context
Escapes every sight
And meaning devolves
Into subjects
Barely described
Beyond feelings
Vaguely defined
Through our thoughts

Which struggle
When witnessing scenes
Pictured on screens
Flashing static
As childhood haunts
Remain vacant
While analog worlds
Appear dark

Between each frame
Kept apart
Through assembled clips
Growing faded
After edited lives
Play on repeat
With white noise soon
Juxtaposed

Against evidence
Blaring so loud
That memories dwell
Among specters
Removed from view
Merely waiting
For another odd sound
Coming close

Behind signals lost
Now believed
To be secret truths
Long forgotten
Hearing old cartoon’s
Distant music
During background shows
Late at night.

• J. Pigno