Moi pseudo digital existencing play,
is dark gray and rather bleek.
To read and need to want to stay,
must mean you’re silky sleek.
Too sleek to want too leave,
to strong to play by day.
Like all of us in endless reprieve,
caressing the edgeless milky-way.
Your control is very and unneeded,
when reality hits you with weigh.
The gate is now open and unheeded,
there’s no such thing as bad cache’.
dead beat poet 
