Almost alive in the great novel of your time

Watching the figures move their lips and limbs

Drawn by unseen wires and disguised motives

Barely scratching the surface of a world once was

But no longer now, is unrecognisable or 

Nothing left for anyone who no longer exists

To recall what is changed into something blank

That never was,

Hypnotized by words that roll into asynchronous tribal chantings

Enchanting evenings burning like shabby tigers prowling Western skies

There are prehistoric mountains and valleys painted and drawn into

Dwindling circuses of The Night here to attend

Gather

G a t h e r

Crowds

crowd together then

Evaporate into some blue electronic fog of images and digitalized sounds

Invisible ink, incredible papers binding faces and limbs

Cut lines, cut fingers

No ink to speak of, no blood to write home about

Just frantic pause in ghost time fright mirrors

Almost alive in the great novel of your time.