most of our souls in cool slitted jeans
watch the crowds fall into
the happenings, privately talk to our
consciences mistake breathing for living

connect by wireless texts play the latest video
when walking past real people
who if we looked up may be the hello
we need.

See a screen of life continuously bufferring
awaiting for it to say   start.

High high we type complain,
of some troll when
all our being is being
a

bit or byte
a hexadecimal encoded
in
a screen, one coded
wrongly.

One cloud away
from
reality.