It starts out as a graph
And fast ways to traverse
Using math,                  theory,
The universe of our relations.

Of what use
We ask staring up at the stars
At Orion and Ursa
In this cold winter.
Traces are made of friends, 
Their faces, their eyes on their    
Other selves, those personas that they,     we,
Project as objects 
      (always objects to be desired).

Always we want to be          more
For others, than just this.

We know comes from the small bits, 
Terabytes become small,  eventually,
Dwarfed in hyper-dimensionality,
The scale of which takes a cloud,
Comes from the small gifts we make,
And small releases
Of endorphins from other        likes.

The source of empire is minutiae,
Amassed quietly, used in silent
Centers in the desert,    growing,
Training eyes on recognition.

Our desires
To be seen.

The gaze of others, to be        liked,
We see in our own home,          ourselves as stars
Rather than the bits
We are in the nebula.

Over head a drone;
Banks have cameras.

Empire lives on eyes
Sees us in a way we
Might reconsider,
Tracks us walking up to our homes, 
Nests, doorbells,
Follows us as the stars enter twilight.

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