A plastic bowl in light reflections,
a mirror behind
the corporation of brands.
The dead are walking
through my rainbow fog
in complex disbelief.
The chains scratching
in the concrete jungle,
a terrible noise is dangling
in the back of the streets,
the man drives fast
to his next appointment
electronic boxes are calling loud
in dramatic draining pixels.
The master keeps disappearing
in the Garden of Light.
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