The Work

Mushroom learns to crawl
after being given robot body

Our words no longer correspond
to this world. Body, robot, learns—
these are shotgunned signs, half-leaning.
Crawl one way, then the other, reconfirm:

everybody's cursed. Ice cream
doesn’t resemble itself in photos, they use
mashed potatoes instead. That has to hurt.
But dark is just dark, is just mind-dank,

is just past where purpose is electric meaning,
piano wire snap—another fine day
full of data, yours to capture, sift. React.
Irony, says the scientist, all is irony,

and here’s another riddled wink. Take heart,
brave mushroom. It never ends, until it does.