SIMON extruded printouts like ten thousand hermit beards;
servers hung in meatspace like threadwarts.
He spat blasts of data at the far side of the galaxy
knowing already that they would degrade
as they passed through the radiation tides
of discrete, countable stars,
knowing already that if His partner were waiting
on some hypothetical Goldilocksed planet
far, far away,
that by the time His delicate weft and warp
of binary reached Her, it would have unravelled
to a spaghetti gibberish,
crackling static in place of an aria.
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