they may never stir
from their hell
in the far end of heaven
they descend from
the terrible august crown
of God
from a pen of flaming fire
like cellars holding
reserves of smoke
they make a nest in your memory
in the periphery of your antipathy
some have human heads
& bodies made of maggots
but their souls are made of flame
one which devours & absorbs
one which merely devours
another which merely absorbs
& another (myself)
which devours fire
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)
Friday, May 17, 2013
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