Digital.
Words meant to hear
now float in aether.
The taut bowstring
of progress murders
growth. Did I speak right?
I'm interfaced. No words
were misspoken.

Digital.
Analog dreams
sink below radio
active energies.
A face for a name,
a name to a face.
Several worlds await
my input.

Digital.
I wear more faces
that I own by proxy
than I show my own.
If the skin doesn't fit,
I have other names
and more skin.
I'm interfaced.