moths land on the screen
bathed in the light off the corner beam
they appear to me as men clinging to a prison fence
staring out at possible freedom
only they are staring in
into my asylum
they wonder what it is I do
tapping away for hours
while fixated on this screen
'why does he not free himself
from this prison
and explore the endless beauty that surrounds him'

blackbirds gather just after dawn
in the trees near my asylum
dive bombers
picking off the moths one by one
as they ponder my peculiar passiveness

food for thought