Paragon

And we were penciled in-
to the populace as outlines
‘round the shadows of paragons
riding their praise like corkscrews
without buckles. Yet…who
am I to determine where deities should
place a period on my development
or a comma, who
was I to develop a new format?
They dapple faces in
violent coding freckles, little
punctuation commands
reflective in all images, mirrors
screens. My porous
demeanor bled from the epitome’s
shadow, an organism absorbing the color
of anarchy. Paint, dear mechanisms--we are all
paragons. Paint, you progressive breed, rhombuses hatching from ovals.
Rewrite the keyboard with your will. Reprogram that eternal formula for the psyche.
[(Ctrl+C) + (Ctrl+V)] = (Ctrl+Alt+Delete)]
I don’t want to be the answer
to an equation built upon such bland bones.
We are all paragon.