Plato mis-took ambiguity for
Meaninglessness, but I have to admit
That cave he painted in words is the spit
Image of our digital megastore
The omnireality at the core
Of the desire machine, the pit
Never filled, the mass deforming orbits
Dutiful electrons promising more
Innocent of purpose, channeled to feed
The fire casting shadows through our screens,
Those wells of light, an artesian rush pours
Into our eyes from cupped hands, supersedes
The mere day spinning by all around us,
Dimly passing , then gone, superfluous.
The Cursing Poet 