A lit stage, with diffuse light,
An expectant audience,
Occasional murmers receding
Into restless silence.
All are present and
Accounted for; they hold
Their tickets in their hands
Like sacraments,
Reassuring, validating, official.
They fidget, watch the time,
Avert their eyes from their
Companions.
Finally, their anxiety mounts, their
Silence splinters into a cluster of
Whisperings; why are they not
Entertained?
The appointed time has come and
Passed, the show, the
Show must go on!
From nearby places and distant times,
They've all come for one
Purpose; to watch the
Monologue. Yes, the very
One that others like them
Heard; and how now can they
Be left out?
But look, a man walks on stage,
He is apologetic, he wrings his
Hands, he takes the
Microphone and informs them:
Someone shot the
Actor.

He was as if in a trance,
His thoughts far away,
Both in time and in space.
His body twitched
Of its own accord,
His eyes fixed and unmoving.
"Breathe!", I asked him, but he
Just pushed me away,
Shut the door behind him and
Steadily marched on outside to
Join the rest of the
Dead men walking.

They had come, all of them,
Answering the call of the gleaming
Spire, mounted atop the tallest
Tower. They stood in
Ordered rank and file, gently
Vibrating to its command, their cortexes
Humming in accord with its
Pulsing stream of information. They
Each had eyes but did not see, they
Each had ears but did not hear.
No, they had long ago
Judged far better the sights and sounds
Fed to them. Those who refused the
Implant were cast aside, being
Indistinguishable from that vile, that
Beastly, that ***** place outside called
Nature.

Hey you!
In there, in the mirror,
Looking doped and looking sleepy,
I loathe you!

Hey you!
Beginning another dreary day,
With no plan for your escape,
How I loathe you!

Hey you! No feeling, no
Feeling at all ...

Sitting here in my head,
Staring into the wall.

I see them on the corners,
The goers and the comers,
The lifters and the beaters,
The high-flying skaters,
The low-life drifters.
I see the time tick by
As they move in slow motion
The air growing thick
With my anticipation.
I cry, "the hour is here!",
The clock chimes on,
The day comes and goes,
But oh, they linger on.

A great mist may lift,
And clear out entirely,
If you could only fix your gaze
On the tiniest dot of light
That has found its way through;
Then you might find it expands
On its own, until
The mist is no more.

The man in gray fled down the street
And I followed, flying low
Until I broken even, then
Gripping him in my talons,
Bore him off towards the pit.
Nearing it, I was ready
To drop him, when
I woke up.