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A heaviness. As heavy as heavy comes. A washing of tingles drips from my hair and slides down my body.

There is nothing to do but wait and see. The wandering eyes point at me but look through me, only occasionally forming the jewels of the face I knew.

We’re watching the last of the moments and hearing the last of the breaths, spluttered from a fluid lung. The time has come, as it often does. Never wanted, but always expected. Always expected, and in this case expressed with an uncomfortable welcome.

It isn’t fair for the dead to live, but we’ve grown effective at making it happen. Only somewhat does the widow accept, for she wishes not to entertain it.

‘It’s not fair’ is the cry that echoes. The moon is waning now, and colour drains to the lowest of the skin.

Goodbye to you, and thank you.

Your author is an idiot. You thought them sharp and quick.

But then they spoke of facts you know and outed themselves a prick.

Poetry on LinkedIn

Some write on LinkedIn,
A corporate stage,
With line breaks and stanzas,
Performing wisdom for wage.

Though prose might suffice,
For their thoughts to engage,
They craft it with short lines,
For reach at each stage.

Is this engaging?
Or just pretence?
Poetry on LinkedIn.
Lacking in sense.

Cloudflare, its interface a mess.
It’s breaking my site and causing duress.

These settings confuse me, I must declare;
Working this out is quite the affair.

I hate it so much, but I don’t care.
Actually, I do, and I’m pulling out hair.

A subtle sanding; a smoothing of sound.
A bloom on audio; a blurring of waveform.
A warm fuzz; a whisper from the past.
Precision with velvet edges.

I pushed to prod,
Prod pushed back.

I prodded prod,
It cracked and cracked.

I fixed the bug,
Or so I swore.

One last deploy…
And prod is no more.

Sitting. Confused.

A wandering eye catches yours.
It starts talking.
It is empty.

You look at its head.
You look in its head.
You look through its head.

Nothing.