I flick the lightswitch off to save on power.
At just a fraction of the speed of light,
I see the room get dimmer. Hour by hour,
My mind accumulates this karma byte
By byte, a binary assessment of
Our digital creation: Moore's Law states
We're twicing brains each even year. I shove
The person next in line -- these constant waits
Demean us, eastern bloc us, plunking us
In black-and-white succession. I trace lines
Along my propio receptors, suss
The genre, and adopt a role; the signs
Declaim, "My words fight for the users," but
I can't decipher whether, why, or what.
1 comment:
Just a quick one before beddy-bye.
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