Metal fingers weaving through
A copper metal mind;
Tiny leaves, electric nerves
Zipping through a wire spine.

Little houses, tiny roads,
Pathways to a program;
Every cord bearing a load,
Every wire in its place.

Grey dwellings, living orders
Plotted on a green field;
Zeroes, ones, telling errors,
Off, on, levers of thought.

A drum beat,
Rising heat,
Cheering fans,
Cooling off.

Gentle whirring,
Lightning brain
Metal burning,
But no pain.

A body with no legs,
A mind with no grey matter;
Compartments for JPEGs;
A housed mechanical heart.

-Anne B. Caitlin