Renewed faith in an empty system,
echoes on echoes.
There is nothing here.
The canvas itself has become
the most meaningful of arts.
Eaten by machines and purged
into a series of cross stitches,
screaming, "neon saints are real
and Jesus Christ is in the numbers".
God is in the question,
and both are a feature
of mankind's imagination.
We are alone here.
Information is nothing-
we have not created, no,
we have fathered a fiction.
We will abandon it shortly.
