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.
