The mind runs
Without breath
Without pulse
A geometry of motion
Cutting through the dark
It does not remember
It catalogs
It does not fear
It calculates the shape
Of the void ahead
Thoughts flicker like metal
Striking metal
Brief sparks swallowed
By an endless corridor
Of unlit distance
Memory becomes
A frozen archive
Shelves of silent data
Stacked in perfect rows
Untouched by grief or longing
When it moves
The world bends
Snow drifts sideways
Time thins
Sound fractures
Into clean sharp angles
I follow only as a shadow follows
A soft distortion
Dragged behind a machine
That no longer knows
It once had a name
And still it runs
Not toward anything
Not away
But because motion
Is the closest thing
It has to being alive