I’m your online operator.
A ‘surgeon simulator’ if you will.
A single, white-gloved finger
eradicating earthly ills.
Specimens on my wall are tagged
and stuffed behind polished glass
where poised peroxide skeletons
crack cryogenic laughs.
I’m a photogeneticist.
A biographical quack.
An optical proctologist
with an endoscope in the back.
Give me a hand, I’ll give you a scalpel;
though I’ll need you to keep me stable.
There’s nothing a good doctor can’t do
from the comfort of your bedside table.
I’m your digital aggregator
that doesn’t know how many thumbs is correct.
A generalising practitioner
who can’t tell a usual pulse from cardiac arrest.
Your curiosity collector
behind a sign that reads ‘Please, tap the glass.’
Your phoney physician.
A cropper.
A chopper.
In short: I’m a hack.
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