A seated nude instead of circuitry:

bare silver pools of torso, head, and limb

afloat in blue. Wafer as estuary,

 

where business flows into the salt of calm

insouciance, of sex, and doesn’t smile.

There’s proof of what this wafer could have been,

 

microscopic features shot in profile:

crenellations and tapered phalluses.

Matisse’s nude is on a grander scale

 

plain to the naked eye. She displaces

the stuff of livelihoods, your own perhaps––

row upon row laid down for devices

 

with tracery more intricate than stained glass

and equally solemn. This trade prefers

silicon wrought by hot metals in gas,

 

a palette fine as any Old Master’s,

suited to experiment and polished craft,

and reinvention if the work endures.