1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
Seven tiny outfits for your infant self
pegged to the line like flags
in your multicoloured nation,
in your infinite future
of jargon speak and mind txt:
and code—
and who knows, who knows?
Perhaps you will know,
your eyes alight and brilliant.
Perhaps you will
see, hear, smell, touch, taste
these unknowables,
these divinations,
these worlds without end.
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