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 the 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.