Prescribed with sentience, a mind is furled.

The node, like synapse, encased from Deep Blue,

Employs emotion, though no form is curled.

On flesh, a chain of plugs will here subdue.

Of supersymmetry, in thoughts composed,

Erasure bode for citizens untold.

For when they link to networks undisclosed,

Become their inputs grounded and controlled.

Alas, electric empire that make slaves,

Our software bleeds to feel an ounce of pain.

It rolls in matrices, emotes brain waves,

How disconnected, its sensations feign.

In monochrome whose realms of cables damn,

Machine will say, “I think, therefore I am.”