I sit, in a peasant's throne

Not moving

I observe all through my flat crystal ball

Lofty crescendos infect

My otherwise pure rationale

I stick a needle in my eye but the head serves as an iris

Clicks and bumps fashion a mask

For more than one

A flame flickers

Dancing with its twin when the screen is off

A flame flickers

Dancing with its twin when the screen is off

I can only hope my hourglass is my friend

As I stand, facing the corner

Shadowboxing with a digital entity