Even in a surveillance state,
There are things that happen no one
Will ever notice, even things
That intended to be noticed.
Half of murders are never solved,
Among the murders reported.
Who knows what else goes on out there?
To flies, all the world seems a web,
Especially in sleepy rooms
Where the sunlight filters softly
Through bookshelves covered in cobwebs,
But plenty of flies reach the end
Not as a meal, dead on their backs
Dessicated on a dusty
Windowsill no spider noticed.
And after they had buzzed so much!
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