It’s glitching, slipping
slightly off kilter
like when you needed the Netflix disc in the Wii.
The lips aren’t matching
not like Godzilla films
but hood WIFI north of Highway 69.
Flickers, ghosts, & whispers
trapped in prisons of my own making
by choice; keeper of the keys.
Face in the crowd, clueless
Middle-aged ninja
Holding my attention until I cross over.


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