Ode to a Circuit Board

With apologies to Keats, and really to all the great romantics, I present you, gentle readers, with a poem. Barely. Actually, it’s kind of cute in spots, and overall, quite dreamily romantic (with heavy mechanical undertones). Whatever…

Near microscopic etched lines,
invoked technologically
in a patently clean room,
now become the arcs
and patterns
of three-dimensional
images.

Pictures of perfect polygons,
assembled together
in complex forms.
Child’s play
accelerated to near-light speed.

The intricate tracks of silver
seem mystical,
but are really
altogether ordinary.

Dutifully assembled
by the dirty and flawed,
through a sterilized synthetic barrier.
No big deal.

Just a bunch of sand
put to use
for someone’s amusement.
Hidden
in a cheap plastic box.

A pinpoint playpen
for phantasmal particles
put to some
pathetic purpose.

The question is,
can you feel it
trickling between your toes?
Maybe someday you will.

I know. Bad. Way too much alliteration, and bad.

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One Response to “Ode to a Circuit Board”

  1. Rosentau Says:

    DonĀ“t think so. Not really bad. I understood. It underlines the unlimited poetry meaning.

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