Ferry in Pomes and Epigrams

Who are you?
Are you a string of coincidences?
or are you the Minotaur?
I watch you,
I lose track.
And that’s when you sit close.
Do you know that you are close?
My fancy flies from one to the next.
My mind finds the patterns it wants to expect.
You never smile,
never speak to another,
paired off with a phone
like all the others.
I’m staring a hole in your brow.
You should look up,
you should
look up,
or maybe not.