It’s all a perception of perspective

Soon to be a reality

Or is it really

              Just a figment

It moves along

A perception of perfection

Or is it maybe

              A singularity

An abnormality,

              in the flesh

Our eyes they hear

Our ears they see

They move about,

              Dancing quite freely

And yet always they

Waltz

              in perfect time,

Like perfect clock work

Basking in

Their idiosyncratic

proclivity

                    for

The music,

             and the stage

The clothes,

              and the speech

They’re all truly

A perception of perspective

Soon to be

A reality