Dust falls onto more dust.
The rampant sound of electric buzzes.
Sameness begets the tired faces of old wrinkles;
The creases wet from where watery balm
tries to remove the wounded flakes of dead skin.
Another crisis moves into place.
The waste that was once called excess
ceases to be wasteful.
In its place there is a notion that more faces will connect to each other.
Somewhere more data is collected.
A solar flare eats the young fusion it has spawned,
And darkness ceases to be dark.
And flail restlessly as a new medium nestles like a worm in the earth;
Cut in half–it is a new birth,
And two beings
With only one eye sees
Dust fall onto more dust
As iron ages rust over.
Moreover, the red rover
You sent out fails to find out
What life is.
And creases filled with tears on faces
Still have much to look at;
Only they are not wet.
They instead reveal the plasmatic glow
Of dusty screens, buzzing white as snow.