A Working Man Looks At A Piece Of Glitter

Tomorrow I use a different machine
Without glitter caught in the mesh
The speakers never spoke to me, but the glitter gabbed life
From dust of a special day desire designed to refresh

It shimmers like a star, along some special angled azimuth
A mulling light which plummeted to earth
To twinkle, there is life "out there"
Now staring at me as a chuckling cycloptic eye of mirth

Tomorrow some new eyes will see
A machine much the same, though lent some litter
For I cannot hope to leave my ward of self-immurement
I can only hope to leave them glitter