Here we lay you
spread before you
circularly mimicking you
on IoT streets for edged
Self-driven Desire

your consent, your lament
your augmentation, your inclination
and we feast, oh how we feast
on telling ourselves we know you
by the data epithelia shed

from the grease
from your yeasting gist
It’s an extra spectacle folks
line right up, spread your wings
read all digits about it

out of the crunchy gates
of the grinder
and the scraping strides
from the strigilis off of the crispy
biome’s six-legged branches of life

through those mirrors
of cracked skin
and the data spilling from it
we have yet to be fooled
to be off our bionic drip

in and to the bumblebee’s kingdom
of young grass
and orange honeysuckle
following the drops of dew
of an early morning drizzle

         —animasuri’24