I was just walking home through the square,
An ordinary evening, coffee in my hand.
A streetlight's shadow lay at the corner,
Deprived of base and source -
Like a stray thread on a white collar.
My step halted. And the street - empty.
The billboard had peeled away at the edges:
Beneath it - not plastic, not copper wire,
But a synthetic, impenetrable world
Where no ray of light had ever burned.
My key fell onto the faded asphalt,
Slid downward unimpeded.
The metal touched the frozen ground,
But the clatter dissolved into pixelated haze
And emitted a delayed, corrupted code.
No monsters, panic, or drama.
Only a crooked technical mesh juts out.
My finger plunged into the hollow core,
Where the minibuses don't run in the morning,
Where all reality is worn and unsteady.
My index finger suddenly went numb,
Having forgotten density, dimension, tone...
I wiped my palm on my trousers -
No mystery hid in the breach,
Only a black abyss and drywall.