Transfixed by
word of mouth and by
icons bygone; pixels a memory block in my
brain that I can't keep up with
thank you... thank you... I hear them, wishing I could trust them
fearful of looking too deeply in the past I take presence with them
thus evermore stuck in the present, away from Uranus' time dilation
transfixed I am; transfixed I remain; transfixed by pretty lights I become
so intense; so non-sequiturian so not so à propos
the pixels I miss clicking on aren't the spice of life
and where are those who share in my memories
if the memories I wish to bask in
are veiled by the black and silver box?
