Lived Static (bad old poetry, circa 11:55PM, 7/14/2024)

Once everything, it's nothing.

Take two squares of color, its two colors; three, three colors. Four, four colors.. 

Take a thousand colors. 

Then squares start turning to pixels.

Take a million. 

Static.

The colors bleed and muddle together - flashing so fast you only see the ghost of what was there a second ago.

Static.

Just static; how could you count all the squares of color in static?

Any given moment, and I am present. In one of those square-turned-pixels. I'm present wherever else I may and can and will and have been and be 

In being everywhere, I will never be or know anywhere.

Just 

a quarter there, a quarter here

a quarter elsewhere, 

and an elsewhere 

elsewhere, 

elsewhere.