Licenses of Ink, Jonathan Henderson

Are we configured for a digital age?
We shuffle off an analog coil and wrap
Up in a fiber optic and copper cage;
In space, where everyone or none is a map
Galactic—bits of webs woven—to the page
Masses—by those two encircling stars that frap
Themselves, and us, by bites, together, they gauge
Our minds (into one, digested, soupy, sap).
But one and one needs one less one; we subtract
The one and add a none—This absolute
You cannot best, unless you find its half.
Alone we’re one and nothing, Digits boot
Ourselves, together more and less, intact.
So take the bit between your teeth, and laugh.