Flatland

 It's all too flat:
                  all the spikes and vowels
                       the sluicing pixels
                       the Hollywood Squares
                       drably boxed up lightning
                       Boxes of Aurora, soggy bears,
                       slaughterings of caribou.

pancakes me.    round.     flat.
                       Bubbled onto skillet.

Now I'm pressed twixt glass
                      micro scoping
                      played out into digits
                      flattened into focus
                      flattened bones
                      melting into plasma
                      catching fire, combusting,
                      licking up matter
                      gasping down past diaphram
                      fraying vaguely
                      abstracting
                      propelled by stellar wind,
                      merging utterly
                      palpitating
                      intermeshed
                      forgot.

Leaving merely light.