We watch each other through an invisible divide.
It is easier than calling or bothering to write a letter,
who would do that anyway?
We don't always like what we see as we sit in the
safety of a cloistered room.
The world comes to us.
Image as representation of reality,
does that really work?
We trade in facsimile.
A numbness creeps through our spirits
and we wonder how anyone could
live like this
and then we do.
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