My pupils spin, marbled, appraising
Carefully both slumber and wakefulness
We compose our love in zeros and
Ones that glide soundless and timeless
Through the crowded stratosphere
I'm bundled alone, seeking attention
In all the wrong places
There are smoking glass
Jars in the dark and pigeons
Fluttering down the hallway
Excuse me, you must be mistaken
I saw him, traveling backwards
In time down the fiber-optic cable
I was temporarily willing to
Purge myself of material attachment
But being poorly adjusted and
Fruitful is far more graceful
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