I play upon
the 1s and 0s
and call on
lyrical ghosts
from the
digital archive.

I abstract the unmuted dance of the black-box;
sonic drones
and secret transmissions.

I resonate
within the arc
of recursive feedback 
hovering in the liminal places, between
"write" and "make."

I believe in
the apophenia of error,
the compound eye,
and the logic
of the holy fragment.

I embrace the
ecstatic collision.