I’ve conjured a clone more successful and lively than me. I polish their bolts and bits – remedy their short circuits. how I wish my bones could shine like silver chrome! I dream of being as productive and managing, as talented, daring, motivated, and driven as the machine I’ve decided will replace me. The urge to peek under my skin to search for foil bones is a craving I don’t dare satisfy. For to discover reflective ribs will mean my clone was for nothing. So tell me, Why do I feel this way? If I’m machine, where will I go when you die? Where will I stay? Dear friend, when I lay down to sleep I leave your engine running so your gears wine freely. I do this so you can live with the absence of me, and so I can learn to accept what’s coming.
Samuel’s poem ‘American Cassava’ captures various experiences within the scope of a life.