missing a cog that turns the wheel that powers the spindle to make things real
and I feel that if I feel that I’ll feel terrible.
There’s no one out there
everything’s on screen
what you live is someone’s dream.
when you think of interaction
the film slows to a crawl
and you’ll believe that you’re a cowboy
with a fancy Southern drawl
where real is just the myth
who’ll kiss you goodnight tonight?
who’ll make the world spin for you?
who’ll hold you close and then you
wonder if the light is just
and who controls the images is the
one controlling you.
I’m happy to be reaching X
this spot’ll do for me
and I shall wait here endlessly
or until eternity,
whichever one comes first.
© 2018, John Smallshaw.