In Which I Muse On Expanded Sensoria

A prayerful silence often seems the norm

'Mongst strangers gathered publicly, it seems.

To each his own has never taken form

So powerfully as now; we watch our dreams

Played out before us on our jeejahs, each

According to his fondest wishes. We

Ignore each other, all but eschew speech

Though still we're talking; we don't hear but see

What's being said by others far from us,

Communing with our private worlds; our god,

Now customized, sits on our laps and thus

Absorbs us so, we smile and mutely nod

And look solipsists, but we are aware

Of more; not less. The world is is ours to share.