My life is full of glaring screens,
And I should possibly know what they mean?
Deadlines, headings, scores --
They're all just one giant bore.
But then again
It's all for the work, I suppose.
Because in the end,
This world is only for those
Who apparently glares the best,
Never looking down at the chest
Or up at a bird's nest.
But it's no wonder our necks are so stiff:
We never realize that the wind
Is floating adrift,
Higher than our eyes can ever go.
So flow, flow, flow
And take it all in --
Why do we all have the need to win?
Let the network of vision begin, begin, begin.
This poem is about: