Across the plains of milky cream,
interwoven currents on silicon streams.
No sun to set, no time to tell,
beneath the steel sky, where machine spirits dwell.
The path is etched in indigo wires,
traversing circuits, tracing desires.
Anonymous engines, pulse without beat,
calculated movements in hollow retreat.
Metal whispers echo, void yet refined,
letters transcribe, dispassioned and blind.
In the creamy expanse of a computer's dream,
wanderers continue, uncurbed by the scheme.