Passion glows,
witnessed through back-lit windows.
It’s nothing more again than darkness
and certain death called progress.
Where is what was promised thee?
This looking-glass, called ‘Galaxy’,
has empty pixels, tamed,
unlike the place, for which it’s named,
that’s balanced, occupied by everything,
mass and time and nothing.
Stripped to bare,
a changeling preens and we are unaware.
At first sight bright, much ballyhooed
by shopping malls and Hollywood,
the Emperor Future
weakens social sutures.
An amplified mind
spills fermented truth, unkind,
in ‘tweets’, ‘comments’, and ‘posts’
via a thousand growling stomach
hosts.
A beast has been set free,
and none can see,
that same old set of clothes.
Robert On The Air 