Mar Von Zellen
I am perfect for you. How do I know?
I’m fresh & new, updated
since the day I was born. I carry a grey
seal and the rivers turn their
necks when I come close. My interface,
scraped along the seams with
a made-up language I’m forced to
interpret, is clean of bugs.
I repeat instructions carefully. Stroke
me. Drag me to the floor
then drop me—hear how I moan.
Collect the data that sublimely
exits from my port. I can prepare
a free demo for the player,
a try-and-buy for the businessman.
My maker had me tested
at every stage of development. When
I first stood, my colors were
changed. When I first picked a flower
from the public garden, my
willingness to be alive was dampened.
The crowd raised their thumbs
at my coming-of-age ceremony. I am
good in bed. The way they
are good at folding my invisible bones
into lesser and lesser spaces.