Which This Poem Would Never Do

Whether there’s somebody there
Or not haunts those who study
The nature of consciousness

And whether it can exist
In a machine. Is someone
In there? You pick up a book

And realize the answer
Is simultaneously
And unremarkably yes

And no when reading a text.
You read—yes, someone’s in here.
Then you set the text aside,

And it’s an object again.
When literacy was young
And rare, things were spookier.

It seemed magic to converse
With the invisible dead
By staring at inert marks.

Maybe machines will get less
Spooky also, given time.
But they don’t stop processing

When you step away, unless
You make sure to shut them down.
Imagine a book tapping

Your arm, taking your elbow
When your back is turned, asking
You to keep it company,

Telling you, Step this way, please.
There’s someone in anything
That’s manipulating you.