The Digital Man
By Sweeetsuz
The digital man, in his digital house Ticking away at the streams of time, Clock, dickery, doc, and his digital mouse, Scurrying along some unseen line. His, is a clock, which has no hands, While his calendar has no days, Digitally he tightens it’s bands, Since numbers change their own ways. That digital clock stands in an empty room Which rolls, but gathers no dust. Ticks off his seconds in the gathering gloom For his digitally sanctimonious lust A digital man in his digital house Ticking away at the streams of time Racing the clock face, with his digital mouse Dealing out futures, thoughts so sublime. Written November 13th, 2000 © on Jun 23 2001 04:17 PM PST 0 • 13
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"The digital man, in his digital house..."