So I stare at a screen

  and wonder what comes next

  expecting beacons to break

  through the clouds ever

  so slightly before again

  being smothered by another

  smokescreen; I stare at a screen

  and wonder how long mice

  can weave through mazes

  searching for the elusive cheese

  before hunger overcomes them.

Do they eventually give in

  and settle for gnawing

  on the cardboard walls

  coping with copious mediocrity

  chewing til they've escaped

  and looking over their shoulders

  to wonder if the cheese

  was ever there to begin with

So you protect yourself with a screen

  as a filter you can say

  whatever crosses your mind

  without fear, without doubt

  and while I rub the smoke

  from my irritated eyes,

  you dance through fog

  that has created for you

  a seperate garden

  that you can pick fruit from

  without wondering if

  it will ever grow back.

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