it enters through the spine
slinking its way up
and now you're like
a string of beads
on a bracelet.
separated in spite of
burnt puppet clandestinies
that pray in narrative grids
across each other's bush
in delight, order is a snake
a fat chicken to grease
on the meat of your tongue
entering through the eyes
and making a nest
in the retina.
you become what you behold
but you can only behold yourself
with eyes either looking
down from heaven
or out of hell
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)
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
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