Ken's Poetry

Data

The brain enfolds the past,
grey ghosts of thoughts
flicker through time’s smoke,
webbed nerve-strands weave
bedraggled sepia tapestries of loss.

The hard disk keeps its data
magnetically clean and bright,
precise as the electron beam
that burns the phosphor screen.

Scattering picture-parts
like ripped up photographs,
each piece for use in many images,
the brain links back old memories
through webs of shimmering strands.

Data is mistaken for truth.
Do not forgett it can be changed,
and altered truths are just as clear
as new, leave no eraser mark.

Memories change too. Pictures overlay,
grow bright or dim, or disappear,
as the network spins into decay
and through the years more data crowds,
and images are blocked or thrown away.