Wired

Pull our cable from its plug,
And we are de-animated,
Is it life for which we’ve lost,
or the cartoon characters we’ve created?

Without movement is there life?
I should hardly think so.
For the only thing that would appear;
A painfully stagnant peep-show.

I over spoke, as I often do.
There is no show.
No pain to speak of either.
Just as those who discovered before,
There is no wisdom in ether.

Animated from plug and cable.
Refined through high-chairs and stainless steel ladles.
Moving symbols to and fro.
Making it up as we go.

The peep-show alive and swell,
Dependent on the cord as well.
I pause to this connection;
The dependence upon the plug.

Animation and Viewership
Never independent of their wire.
Could it be, that I can’t see,
That both are simply what we call ‘me’?

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