The Mask Has Slipped
I'm disillusioned of this modern world
This quantum, promise-palter singularity most days leaves me hollow like empty Technology
Picture an old colour tv- tubeless workless-
abandoned on an urban bombsite; that's me
Deep unsettled forebodings haunt my sleep, itself a fitful deal
On better days, I see the plan
But most days the pit looms larger than an internal universe of anxious raving racing outward expansion
It's possible I've aged enough - just enough, mind - to have become the prick the younger me kicked against.
Not likely though. The evidence overwhelms.
This time-ripping exponentiality denies all of my feeble tries at the explanatory
Let's see, shall we?
The ineptitude of THAT maternal platitude both exacerbates and contradicts the corollary
You see? That's the point now.
The Mask has slipped
And has anyone even noticed?
Let's see.
Let us see.
To whom do we make this silent plea?
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