Petabytes in a single cell (a poem)

Friday, August 1, 2025

Petabytes in a single cell.
Romulus, and the dread,
wage slave, 24 thousand hours,
and a beat down for the synthetic brother.

Reset—
his autism is shuttered,
the despair,
the day in and day out,
the mines own us,
we’re extractors,
helping the company
take more from the universe.

A kid’s rocket—
launched for a prospect,
a flare of pretend,
in a sky already sold.

The Anthropocene, and a smoke—
the human and tender
escape the gang,
a broken promise
and a squad of runners,
up to the lab in orbit,
to find a ticket to ride.

The spool of information,
the scarcity of knowing anything—
all that’s written on me,
and I cannot read it.

The meaning and measure,
the matter and muck of the real—
the protocellular,
the micro machines,
a spear and some tools.

The industry leaks.
The seepage alone
powers shanty communities—
the unemployed,
the resistance,
to our game of monopoly.

Agency bound and buried alive—
the smothering,
a man wiggling in his own skin,
prisoner,
unable to stand,
sit,
or run,
unable to be
and choose.

The pain-riddled connections—
the joint,
bone,
and sinew,
the wrapping and tendons,
the ties
and range of motion,
a crunch,
a crack,
and grind.

A world unaware of its base operations—
the subconscious,
like a firmware,
flashed and working
without our knowing.

All the stories—
and yet I can quote Tombstone,
Top Gun,
and other obscure virtualities.

We’re swimming in an atmosphere,
an inescapable layer,
an environment and ecology,
a runtime,
the OS
and the software.

The essence, drained,
bind to the machine,
and then gaze
into the black glass,
and watch
the soul go.