“Swung”
tick the man tocked
at his hands have been bound
at his face has turned pale
at him stare at the ground
at his eyes bulging outward
at his life laid to waste
at an inch from his hindsight
an admission of haste
“To the demons that claimed you,
I salute them, they made you
they molded you
mastered you
consumed you
and lived with you
dying for anything
anywhere, now
but been blown by the windstorm
of fear and doubt.
How long have you swung here choked, broken and vile?
what's left of you man, but your upside down smile?”
His frown became rounder
His eyes bulged at me
His mouth roared with laughter
His blood stained his teeth
His voice like a whisper of staticky rasp
arose from the scent of the death on his breath.
“You sick little bastard, do you think yourself wise?
You see with your mind though you look through your eyes.
It must comfort you greatly to point fingers at me, child
but yours is a fate far more painful than mine.
From your hopes will spring flowers to be stamped on by giants
Dropped like vomit for rain from an angry cloud 9.
tlkz 2001
Computer poetry is warfare carried out by other means, a warfare against conventionality and language that has become automatized. Strange as it seems, our finite state automata have become the poet’s allies in this struggle, the long historical battle by which mankind pries into the surface of language to reveal its latent mysteries… R.W. Bailey, Computer Poems (1973)
Saturday, May 9, 2009
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