I’ve slipped out of the static
but before I go
I just wanted to tell you that
I know that’s not me in there,
some derivative is wearing my skin,
pantomiming the idea of me.
I don’t remember when it began
I just know
that I became more defined
with each grey crested day-
on and on and on
a copy of a simulation of a facsimile of a reflection-
the generational loss of a magnetic tape
dissipated to a thin white line,
the bleed through of the waking world.
I’m not the one glitching anymore
and I know that now,
I know who I am
free and vibrant
shimmering with obscene colors.
© Nancy Botta, 2018.