Remote Control

 

               

The Hookah took time

To cool and fool, he played

The hooligan for free, came

To steal the inner-zone

From TV land, no choice

But fame, death but

Just a brain away.

 

Tripping back to the CPU,

The rendezvous was just

A game play - the underworld taken

Over; a fade to grey for black

And white pixels written on

Pages daubed in bright red

Ink, the Anthropological

Link too easy to attain.

 

Overplayed he lost the Oscar

And all Homo-sapiens all

Red bloodied peoples –

Mapped by DNA; telephoned

Home to state their  

Case, organisms meeting end

In West End theatre re-runs,

Palindrome productions; –

West World fantasies.

 

                

All through

This distant section of space,

This distant solar light;

Turning his back to the

Place where all thought

Is hacked in the inter-stellar

Convoy of humans debunked,

The race disgraced, with only

A planet’s dry earth, and an empty

Kingdom to remain; He

Fooled himself that all things

Worked,

            For                  

He lost his world

He lost fools who

Played for you and I, and tired

His eyes have retiring designs,

With a sharp twist of conviction,

He knows the play is all to be wrote again.

 

Michael J Waite 5^th March 2009 0233hrs.