You chose technology in the wake of humanity
Since Logic was the fabric of your mind
It was the construct of your deity
In the absence of a higher power
You worshipped numbers and their curves
The way they danced in the aspens
The way they hid themselves in the folds of cloth
The moments when the ticks of time stretch unfathomable
Unfolding as the measure runs indiscreet
Or the stretches when the moments of time converge imperceptible
Collapsing as the experience folds into itself
You documented the irrational numbers of your subjectivity
And truncated them into the rational
Objective under the guise of your Reason
Ephemeral in the counterweight of the physicist
The balance was a formula drafted in your motif
That which held meaning
In the darkest of your furthest reaches
Your transcendental numbers
That gave structure to the infinitesimally empty details of your existence
The scattered characters and sequences
That constituted the formula of your song
The midnight river that always carries on
Was crafted by your higher Logic
Into a Reason for your being
Deeper than any material necessity
The common thread
That pulled you through the contractions and expansions
Of the experience of space and time
In the wake of technology
Was your human season