Disguised Lights - III

I haven’t seen in months, months
What the rest of the world calls
The Sun.

Strange, tainted chemicals in my brain
Hardwired, feeds an image of—
     What scientific filament
     Meanders trapped in
     A little glass bowl
     With a flick of a switch
     Turns day into day
     Fakes night into day
     And I’m happy as a drone
     If only until the wear of flight
—the Sun.

I dare not leave by decree of my
Homemade devil. So, I haven’t seen
In months, months
     (Other than magic of a filament)
What the rest of the world calls
The Sun.