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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