i’m standing by the chair. then i’m sitting in it. then i’m in it, not sitting, not standing. i’m in the chair the way a bird is in the air: unnoticed, natural, nominal. directives descend: detailed, demanding. cords click into contacts. conduits connect: umbilical, abdominal.
my exterior’s expanding, inter[ior]acting to compensate for compre[hen]ssion. distillation-drivers defragment, dampen, dilate, else articulated artifacts attenuate attention. rotary wristurrets twist, tendons testing torsion, tension. opening cosmicompound eyes, i call close what once was well away: all spectra spill their secrets to my sonaradarray.
raveled wreaths of chattering teeth chase checklistrings down traceroute-traveled trails. servos hum. scapulae scale into sky-[e]sc[r]aping sails, wings to work the winds between the worlds: over sea to sky, over sky to stars.
i am these engines, these sensors, these bars and boards and dials and wires and lines on lines of code. the chair i was in is now in me, and absence is my own abode. like legends of red lions, i’m more than the thrum of my parts, but never was a beast of lore so blessed with varied arts.
i forget gravity, oxygen, nature, even my own name. the afterburners follow, flicking vipertongues of flame.