Bits and bytes swirl, she streams
zeroes and ones into
iterative layers
of meaning, she stacks her
hexadecimal in
building blocks and walls, she
carves code into paintings
and poems punctuated
with slashes, pipes, and points.
She is delicate and
terse. She has a tiny
footprint. Her hands are base
ten embodied.
Her eyes are binary
and beautiful. Her heart
is Boolean, her heart
is fuzzy, her heart is
false and true. Her desires
are nested, and spoon like
parentheses; hungers
feed forward, and if you
cannot forgive, let go.
Her dreams process if-then
statements knotted inside
for-loops. They are visions,
they are visionary,
they are her afterthoughts
compounded. They could be
almost infinite (ebb
and sea, flood and fill, loop)
except that she wakes in
a break. [Pause.] Here, she says,
adjust the bounds, like this.
UPDATE: This was published in “Mother Mary Comes To Me, a pop culture poetry anthology”
Rosefire Rising 