Content
Sending, receiving, a day-to-day living
With all bits and pieces that look quite alike
Once you step back, there’s no sign of retrieving
As if your body and mind went on strike
It isn’t much different kind of existence
Everything goes, as it used to, although
Something is missing, or put on a distance
Which is in practice the same, as you know
Can be sublimenal, can be quite conscious
Most likely both, like I see it today
Rescued from contacts, you’re thinking of us
But what is the content, will you ever say?
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