Digital skins caress and stimulate,
too virtual for my physical programs.
Alter yourself for me, stream your
images throughout Boston for my
algorithm. Do you feel lonely or
liberated, without the scratch of brick
and glass against your cheek?
Polshek shaved its legs for you first
but I understand your need for
human space—a chatroom nonchalance
feeds the partnership you desire.
You construct your maps and
material performances from simulations.
But my simulacra told me to wait, to
watch, to question. But no INTP can
resist the future space of form and radio.
Curvilinearity seeps from your consciousness
as readily as development from mine.
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