Silver blotches on my wire-frame
ozone punctures, overcast lobes,
a patchwork of entities
craving attention,
sucking on the spirals,
nibbling the gray.
Feckless youths know
nought of these
troubles, they appear
to them like hay
in the night sky-
distant & distracting.
But, I tell you-
one day I will scan
the cunts
from my system,
delete all entries,
pop the chips out of
my crippled cortex,
spin them trice,
and sideways- then
blast them all from
peripheral vision
and into
abstract oblivion
where all
phatasmata
should go
to die.

© Milana Vujkov, Niche & Chips, 2010