It’s on.
It’s on, and I want the simple distraction
Of voices humming, pulsating; the room is less lonely
With accounts of the procedural offering solutions to the
abstractions
Of each day.
It’s on.
It’s on, and I hear the lascivious dance
Of fingers on keys and screens while we open each door.
We tap and we hum, alert but oblivious to the ongoing trance;
Seeking something.
It’s on.
It’s on, and we gift a cool glance of greeting
Empty words divert and repeat, cyclic. Slap, my eyes are
back down
And the tongue-thrusting frown is in place. Gaze not
meeting.
Just reaching.
It’s on.
It’s on; we’re all animals with a common need
To Interact. Give me a piece of your attention – I’m
starved.
A time-thief, in this affluent empty world where words are
rain, and noises bleed.
Are you watching this?
No, it’s just on.
