Us, Obsolete.

Us, Obsolete. prose poem

If my face was 4.95 inches,
and in each of these inches,
instead of blemishes and pores,
were five-thirty-eight pixels,
would you look at me?

if my voice was polyphonic,
and instead of whispering,
meetings, funerals, and family picnics,
would you listen to me?

if my body was an alloy,
and my hair,
and my curves,
and my scars,
and the dead skin flakes
were all replaced
by a bio-metric fingerprint scanner,
would you touch me?

if my rib-cage concealed four cores
instead of one;
and instead of life,
pumped code,
would you be in awe of me?

and, if my tongue,
emitted Wi-Fi
instead of poetry,
would we connect?

will it take a logo,
etched on the back of my neck,

why can’t my goose bumps suffice?

why can’t I suffice

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Mario S. C. Tall



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