Look around you, look up.
Listen to the voices and music
in your ears, hold the phones
tight, tighter against your head,
blocking out the irritation, great
huge electronic battles from the box
in the other room. Perpetual, the
thorn in my side, the bane
of my existential...
You tap a shoulder into a start
and a half-jump "you artists
are so focused" disdainful,
mocking, damning ideals with a
muttering under breath.
Not soon enough, but soon
you will be gone with your systems,
all your toys and playthings,
but when... Not yet, only "soon."