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...most of Us...
"Colors," he says to the screen's black lattice
i say 'me' guided by a blind instinct
...empty spun-sugar shibboleth...
we also shape-shift at a distance
dead on the surplus blankets
"Something understands," breathes the screen
...and try to become the Light?
we are digested and become nothing here
i wanted to fly from the roof and i fell
...small dull smears of meditative panic
...the string grids of excavators searching for weathered bone
Mal de Coucou
what the machine understands about you doesn't actually mean anything to it
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