There’s a whirlpool on my finger

And it spins a thread,

A web

Around my bones

It tells them that I am

Something

When they ask the things I know

But am I The Answer

To all their questions,

(Their cards I cannot see)

Is it me

In all their metricks

tick tick tech trick

Is the thread that spins within me

Really captured in these clicks?

Who is really in that image

But a still of me

Just now

My face becomes a pattern

A join-the-dots

That tethers me

Deep inside a machine

It goes,

There

I

go

The me they want to see

The me they want to keep

The me they’ll call on

When I need

To become The Answer

To the code

I cannot read