Automated Nirvana

When I have no questions
For the clouds
Leaves
Chemicals consumed
Or friends
Across the table
I am half convinced
This lobe is attached
To a joystick
In the hands of something
Bored with stomping
Through the galaxy

See
When not plugged in
I begin to wonder
In my own directions
And whatever has control
Is catching on
Because it allows
The suspicion
That none of this
Is real
To strike me less often
Than it once did