White fog, flurry

winged messengers

confetti

tickertape chyron

magnified static

from video screens

once modest diversion

once a day

‘round the clock now

raining down

like Deckard’s L.A.

saturating

all we see

until we can’t

see

losing perspective

within the camera

lucida

we call the

Information Age.

 

Turn your face to

the torrent

in defiant acceptance

if you must close

your eyes

open

your mind.

 

Comes the storm that feeds

the ground.

Comes the seasons’

turnaround.

 

 

– Danny Grosso