If you build a machine to talk to me,
then I will talk to the machine 
and take my comfort like a monkey 
nursing from a wire mother.

Prisoners in solitary 
cry their jailhouse tears. 
Release them and they run for solitude. 
Walk gently by them,

monkey babies in unnatural pain 
among their peers. 
They need the softest software 
and a loving motherboard.

We outnumber all the dead, the people 
who had no machines to talk to 
and had to make do 
with each other.

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