the inanity (part #5).

V.

Our systems of coordinates don’t match
so does the direction of the revolving doors
we’re in:
while I’m trying to get out,
you are on your way in.

You are a magnifying glass,
I am only a reflection of me.

When we converse,–
I say a lot;
you are the static on the other end of the line.

You are long legs, the fetish,–
a reverie;
I’m your disfigured shadow on the floor.

— “A pardon, what time is now?”
— “What does a series of faceless frames really mean?”

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