Machine Where I Sleep


My head does not exist anymore
here in the machine where I sleep,
wake, analyze input, output data.
Neither does my corpus either,
diseased as it was, useless, dumped.
The heap that cradles, threads electrons
warmer than a hundred-watt bulb
radiating biological, now processing
a mind still electric, but not chemic.
Alloyed not android, I tunnel travel,
trounce towers, sound satellites;
unlocked by geological contour:
creature immortal, impersonal —
no cat patting, lover petting, no
analog; just digital epilogue.

RedBoxPlainSm*[ WSB ].