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Those who don't look, don't really see,
And we--enthralled by introvert reveries,
Hunched over scry-plate palmistries,
Ears, eyes, even noses rigidly engaged--
Are lost in coils of fog that deceive,
That dissolve our individualities.
Dayflower dreamers may be excused,
But those impaled on addiction's fang
Will feel their identities hemorrhage and wane.