reflexive my puppets
reject to return, invert
an imaginary hand reintegrating
its fingers along the barrel of a spine
moving like liquid toward the brain
and you are suddenly bathed in light
bright eyes begin to make it up
as they go along.
a dark brown sludge
cries out of the corners
of the eyes. let it go,
let it all go. your eyes
are made of light.
and your heart
is light as a feather.
the orange glittered void
of the ultimate spiral
resonating reptile with its tail
in its mouth
ancient acquired void of vicious sympathy
with a sawblade mouth,
in the anti-breath of dark night
a secret
that competes with fear
for its very survival
on the other side of every black hole
is a baby universe
in imaginary time.
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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