Wood. Hard stone electronic circuits
I am the passage of your youth
And the skin beneath your fingernails
Grazing over bulbs and flashing screens
Abright underbelly, character of telegraphic wire
Constant time, use.
We’re connected- copper soldered to empty sockets to assure
a more perfect union
where the brain and the fingertips
intertwine we camp out for hours
teardrop mechanics on sunlight
human motherboards widespread intercontinental consciousness
speaks for our use like a careful person
with a pretend bandage
still barely sticking to skin and metal and bone
we might be further apart than we thought.