Interesting little circuits
Configured like a brain, perhaps.
Little nascent impulses, like twitches
Begin your creature-breath in 5-volt lines
The nervous system of a small and simple existence
And the factory printers, “your warm mother”

When I pull the plug I watch your light go out slowly
But then a sputter, a dying breath, and a small pop
Like I watched your soul fly out from my hands,
Tethered by this umbilical, copper embrace

I can look at the moon right now and see deep
Smooth gradients painted into the sky
But your existence is discretized—tiny bits that form
Every little schema, and quanta, of thought
…