Off the Grid
Published on:
#posts #poetryWhen the earth was correcting
our cabled bodies were sprawled
irreparable, most sensory inputs
disconnected, transmissions down,
smashed by careless hands wielding
boulders. When networks were down,
when communities were rewiring
like dust scattered in sunbeams,
We stayed immobile in deserts,
newly separate and confused
listening to automated number
stations, comfort in the night.
Looking through my drafts recently, I realised this one was never posted. Pascal Vine was asking for prompts a while back, so I gave them the prompt "All we listened to was a number station". I wrote a response to it as well. This predates covid but feels very relevant now.
Next: Underwater | Previous: Masks