I think I should get lost and hide in time,
in a vast nook of shrouded obsolescence

Perhaps I cannot grasp this nonsense feeling
that pushes through like a fully loaded steamer
when the siren is calling from the other room

I have nothing to offer
- just some age-old ladyfingers from my Minoan age of Doom
Too young to give up,
too old to give in,
here I am playing Tinkerbell
and maybe I am just a nosy white bear stranded on a whaling harpoon

The map is not the territory,
and yet, here I am, still unboxing fragiles
while the fingerprints on my mirror are still only mine