The entertainment on the screen
sells the ice cubes in the drinks,
and the ice cubes in the drinks
water things down.
Look at them sit on their piles of corpses.
Take a moment and stare at the height of
their towers. Is this not the great progress,
we’ve described for so long, and do you not
enjoy the privileges of the future?
Gather all the decent people somewhere
they can talk for hours. Let them mull over
everything we think we understand and
shuffle it in their hands like decks of cards.
The universe tells lies to itself to test its
own inherent sense of the truth, and if we’re
lucky we’ll get to see the other side of the flash card.
At least then a part of us will have eventually learned
something, and the faceless people watching
will have to decide what to do with us now
that the curtain has fallen off the rings, and the crowd
of the wronged walks the street and just sings.
Teleporting Typewriter 