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