The weasel digital desert
arrived infront of your dusty halls
your rugged adventures and race
The contours of your face
The rooms in my mind where some infant tenants are playing
Some accomodated some vacant condominion brain
many whose walls are just vibrating membrains
How do those visitors get any sleep?
All the world it´s toys and tools like wands
all of which to bestow your control on
A baby randomly examining shiny plastic, a grin ensues
The shiny plastic that it eventually transforms into
that ugly etiquette knives and forks, gossip and queues
The weasel digital desert of the mind of reflection
The dusty halls begging for cognitive connection
access to the memories of great seas and days
A mirror to capture some identity before gray
The physical desires and eyes out on the world are banned
the extroverted servant now a few commands
On an infant´s introverted Croc wearing app
stored there, like a cryogenic nap
The rooms in our houses
Most empty now
the walls become touch pads
We are now virtually asleep
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