xxxxxxxxhis enraptured final hush
and multiply itxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxand ruin the fruit
of his mother's laborxxxxxxxxxxx
by the lamentations of the nauseous. a man fails with a boy's cry. the tears of his mother fill tubs with blood in which to drown her young. her menstrual cycle was patterned on the radial velocity of the moon and so her son became a necromancer. a failure, who fetishized the body into pieces.
deeply paperlike kisses
blowing ashes in the wind
and then he would whisper
his torrential teleology
to the tinman, an alchemist
a shell of a man
a moribund effigy
awaiting translation
in the moisture
of his undead mother
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)
Thursday, March 31, 2011
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