Technology

Human ghosts in silicate shells,
circuitry lines on my face and around my mouth
heat and light and a slight ozone scent.

These shells, like bullets, fit perfectly
I wear them on my feet, on my hands and over my eyes,
They sound dry and accurate bouncing off surfaces

I send them around as scouts.
I use them as currency.
They are not part of me.

When I sleep, they all rattle at once and I get static.

I've been trying to program my words into phrases
they started flashing a message on every screen,
On every wall
Cold, green lasers all over my skin.