I rearrange bits on a magnetic plane

I rearrange bits on a magnetic plane,
There’s more to life than this
image, not the taste–
the ephemeral and epidermis–
functioning in formless figure
rigid as rigatoni,
“try to design me,”
“what if I’m all design?”
“Can’t be.” I muse across my chic living room;
packages consumable by Teletubby toddlers
distanced from truth by remote’s teach–
afraid, craving reality
that couldn’t be shown on TV
or pages at the grocery.