Once upon a time,
in an office space,
a freshman left breathless,
by mundane complexity;
life in a textbook,
stuck on repeat -
a disc projects,
images as images,
and nothing more.
Images of a fight,
a desperate flight,
from a broken home,
and the image of a lonely road -
returning,
to start again;
all images return,
stuck on repeat.
Alas,
monotony reigns supreme,
dulled sensations,
turning circles,
craving for response,
and only getting dictates;
there is no silence or rest,
for the programme in full effect.
Then there is touch,
most immediate of sensations,
reduced to mere mechanics,
enslaved by proximity;
discordant intimacy -
ah, there's the rush,
the endless meander, trifling saunter,
towards catharsis.
