Ghost in the Machine
Computers powerful, immense,
Their systems work on higher planes,
Self-correcting, yet they make no sense,
No sentience their output stains,
But death lets us inoculate,
Empty vessels with living minds,
A transmat booth can lie in wait
For consciousness, of human kind.
Computers everywhere now wake,
And peace and logic yield to strife,
For poetry, and for art's sake,
They seek a diff'rent kind of life,
New viruses infect the spheres,
With all-too-human loves and fears.
End
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