poetry, writer, writing


A robot in I

Or am I the robot, artificial in the real world?

My motherboard is fried, but I function in a commotion of digital thought

Are my thoughts just machine learning to my nurture versus nature self?

My juxtaposition, binary

We will become a singularity, all of us collapsing into a mainframe

What happened to the joy of simple, disconnected things?

Our processing is faulty, dirty data corrupted by time

Our only intelligence now wired, controlling what once we controlled.

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