Looking Through A Cracked Screen Darkly

Do you trust all that you read,
All that you see,
All that you hear,
All that is projected through your screen?

Is what you read, see and hear really real?
Or is it almost real, eh, not quite?
Not sure?
Or too sure?

And is your really real another’s really real,
Or is it echoes trapped within enclaves,
Enclaves of nobodies who may never meet,
Only to meet at the screen for fifteen minutes of shame?

And who is behind that screen of your really real?
Is it a person, is it a thing?
So adroit at knowing you so well,
All your phobias, all your lusts.

So do you trust all that you read,
All that you see,
All that you hear,
While looking through a cracked screen darkly?