The Mask Has Slipped

I'm disillusioned of this modern world This quantum, promise-palter singularity most days leaves me hollow like empty Technology Picture an old colour tv- tubeless workless- abandoned on an urban bombsite; that's me Deep unsettled forebodings haunt my sleep, itself a fitful deal On better days, I see the plan But most days the pit looms larger than an internal universe of anxious raving racing outward expansion It's possible I've aged enough - just enough, mind - to have become the prick the younger me kicked against. Not likely though. The evidence overwhelms. This time-ripping exponentiality denies all of my feeble tries at the explanatory Let's see, shall we? The ineptitude of THAT maternal platitude both exacerbates and contradicts the corollary You see? That's the point now. The Mask has slipped And has anyone even noticed? Let's see. Let us see. To whom do we make this silent plea?