Machine Learning

A poem

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If I were a dot,
a zero or one, inside a chain,
inside a circuit, inside glass;

under a glazed eye—
then I would sit and work until 
the whole earth dropped 
and cracked and everything shut off. 

Then that would be all, 
if I were a dot. 

But, I have seen the skin on the end 
of my finger and it has touched another. 
I have thoughts creating thoughts; ones not written down. 
I have a beginning; but I'm nothing so temporary. 
I still bleed, I still breath, and I still taste my own spit. 

And in the end it is my hand that lets go. 

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