Narcissus under the nebulous blue,
I reflect the lagoon, I am opaque too.
I swirl my many selves
across silver screens, and as the silt settles,
open waters encroach an abyss
so cavernous; the machine mouth
that filters clean facades is ravenous.

Soaking in the sun like a pink lily in mud,
my heart lapping up the next bright alert
the promise of praise keeps me company,
as clock hands blur mindlessly.
Round and round, empty carousel,
fingers scroll and swipe and surrender,
eyes that once leapt now lumber, leaving me
voyeur to river Lethe, the white noise stream—
that faceless feed nourishing my hunger.

Dipping my fingers, soon to dive head-on,
to rectify my reflection, riverbank long gone.
The echo chamber hides its siren song
behind a serenade.
The welcome embrace of the invisible crowd
will come to suffocate.
Still I stir the waters, though I know,
below the pool something poisonous grows.
I must be infected by it, only then
can I be perfected.