they do the dreaming
and i do the sleepwalking
the old men across the street
in the park, vomiting
pigeons feasting on their insides
and the air is sick
with messages no-one can decipher
a static outlining of sorts
fiberoptics, radiotowers
they do the dreaming
we are data-language
a vision of zeros and ones
i do the walking
in the sky, a thousand butterflies
a misguided fligh
into a reverse metamorphosis
cocoons falling from above
the panic, mesurable
in the echo of the vicious hail
what happened to their dream?
knee-deep in larvae, i sleepwalk
there is data in the air
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