Dinnertime. By mistake the navigation program
addresses through the speakers.
Turn left. It won't turn off.
Sound fills out the hunkered house,
which is thin like a body can be. 
Turn left. Maybe not disembodied. Maybe just
reaching me from an imagined body far away.
Somewhere a warm data bank,
the warm flank of a computer
knowing where I am and
where I want to go, wanting
to help ease the distance. Warm. 
Turn left. The whirr of an imagined throat. 
Where I am. Where I want to go.
The distance. I'm listening.
I lift my fork.

july 23rd, 2020