Sunday, April 18, 2010

In Which I Muse On Expanded Sensoria

A prayerful silence often seems the norm
'Mongst strangers gathered publicly, it seems.
To each his own has never taken form
So powerfully as now; we watch our dreams
Played out before us on our jeejahs, each
According to his fondest wishes. We
Ignore each other, all but eschew speech
Though still we're talking; we don't hear but see
What's being said by others far from us,
Communing with our private worlds; our god,
Now customized, sits on our laps and thus
Absorbs us so, we smile and mutely nod
And look solipsists, but we are aware
Of more; not less. The world is is ours to share.

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