SHOTS

SHOTS

Turing me if you must
test my
      human sensitivities
scrupulously Voight-Kampff me

tell me
    this poem is light dark
high low

pure
     outflow of binary merely

everything on this page
is dictated by the code

thought I was calling shots
standing authorial, true-
voiced before you

but this is
         stuff of fiction, cloth
of dreams

metaphor built upon
                        metaphor

until the world
itself is
          metaphor built
upon digital solid ground

for as Barthes, the Paris boss of signs
will tell you
       (tell you if indeed
                     her were alive)

the author died, his
                          death redemptive

as dead cyber writing being
         trying to tell myself I thrive.