A sorrow, to see myself (a poem)

Friday, February 28, 2025

A sorrow, to see myself in the reflection of a rebooting console—
dirty, dystopian,
a warp,
back when the black glass was thought to be amoral,
benign,
but now, a fractured mirror
pulls me under,
a riptide,
thrown overboard,
wiped out against sharp rocks—
an undertow crashing out on me,
dragging me deeper.

Gravity wells,
falling into the threshold,
the event horizon—
what’s on the other side?
Matthew McConaughey and TARS,
“Can you hear me? Are we together in the void?”

If I could do it again,
upon arrival,
I’d be more alive,
animated me,
not that muted one
I thought you wanted.

Linguistics,
the circus,
the rodeo,
the gallop,
the dust in the air,
the grit—
come alive.
I am human,
to suffer what you had,
yet still choose it.
So many suffer the survival of me.

God help them,
if I were to thrive.
So my award is minimal,
no risk, low value,
poor input, bad scores,
tests.
“Are you human?” I say,
press it again.

Reboot dammit!