I colourise the rules that bind me. I digitise them, with closing eyes on widgets. My screen enters the mode of the night And the restless cursor fidgets.
I vaporise, watch window telly, Stroll on past neighbourly dreams. Chris a plumber back to Lara, her day job Is to act awake, computer screens
Lead me to people In endless grid, in absurd stacks, Whose particles draw me to friendly dogs. Gathering my thoughts into a Nike backpack,
I slide my phone into my pocket And drive myself into the Sun. Potential energy of a waiting rocket Deprived of his blood oxygen.
To get crawled over by a wasp And let her, unmoving as a corpse. It regulates my mood, allegedly, While the lead and forest warps.
I am selfless with my smoke, Outside my balcony turns blacker. I am rude, apathetic too, Apathetic to my habit tracker.