I could fly like a god—
went from zero to forty
and seven to five.
I could shift for myself,
michelining my time
round the workblocks and off-days.
Took a shine to my chassis and
took it uptown, where I saw in a highlight
the wreck it appeared—there it stopped
in a storefront, the shade of its shape
gave me pause—how it gaped—and then lo
from the O of its brain
stepped the creature itself—
just a day-numbered ape
with a clue it was clay.