[whir] [blip] and tape slides past the magnet’s face
and data numbered zero one creates

The World, these Feet, Identity, this Space
a Map of Self, of Moons, Tectonic Plates.
What wonder’d Feats shall I perform for Thee?
To tear through Mounts of Rock or Flesh; perhaps
a Computation of untold Degree?

One zero fires: a synapse [pops] and [snaps].
A program seethes amongst its spools of tape.

This dust atop my Skin grows thick. Neglect
by Silence. I see Focus shift, reshape
towards Endeavors I cannot dissect.
I’ve counted Time on Teeth and Cogs –I know
Our Chemistries are borne of diff’rent Ores.