Am I wrong
For the static untold
And divine unknowns
Between flickers
Where we dance
Through dreams
Over broadcasts
That still have me
Believe
She is real?

Always there like snow
Seeking voices
As her white noise
Fades
Into whispers
While beings of light
Fake projections
By stutters
Which speak
Broken words,

When night exhausts
Grainy visions
With prophets
Who paint
Dirty pictures
To resume old needs
Chasing muses
Now saints
Whose sleaze
Offers prayers

No analog tape
Ever claimed
Or effectively
Caught
Filming angels
From smiling coy
Posing gently
Letting hair
Contour
Certain grace –

A perfect escape
Before long
Until daybreak
Bleeds
Brighter nothings
Beyond our scene
Finding meaning
Just right
Seeing angles
Obscured.

• J. Pigno