Tapping fingers, unwrap
Onto a curtain less screen
Letters stemming from the root
Temperate student of truth
Languishes here in this hole

Multiple stories to tap
Six minutes to nothing new
Countdown never eases
Random images always appearing
Sudden markings unto the slate

Quiche release valve autos on
The soul, levers to manual off
No more the heights to climb
Bound now, to the luminaries of a sleeper