Feeding on Plastic

A purpose inside the plastic of it all
Is hard to find
When everything stretches, twists
Like a million instant silver ribbons
Seemingly sublime

Reality burns through the shadowed concrete floors
Burns through every waking and sleeping day
It reflects off the rising glass
In a dulled, distant gray
The place where everyone looks but never sees

Meaning travels through the eye of moving squares
And voices through a twisted string of metals
Which doesn't really exist anymore
Active and blissfully unsettled
Inside each life that plugs in

Everything is clear, and better of course
Everything is better, in the clear sense of speed
Like the fulfilled desires of a human
Insatiably feeding on a machine that feels to feed
A machine that moves beyond the appetite of plastic