Poem: Strange Hours
A poem that is about the strangeness of a connected world.
In some houses the curtains
are always closed, no light
to send; unable to receive —
you walk past and take note,
then file that note with old receipts.
We care but don’t really care.
The weird thing now is how the people
in there are your friends online, from time
to time. Which is where they are open for anything
