Have we rebuilt the tower of Babel
With weary words of wireless babble?
Do somnolent thoughts surf synapses
On tidal waves of vacuous verbs?
So tasteless, as baseless, and faceless
Secret voices clamor, “I am here”
In clusters of blabbing barnacles
Encrusted, agape, to the Internet.
Watchers, spectators doing little,
Chasing minutia ever fresh.
Turned into products; privacy shed
In a passive world of dungeon dead.
Endlessly...
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