America the Illiterate 

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I want to go on beyond words
But language stumbles in me and I am
A prisoner to her gateway of being
I open it to arrive at duality

Without Oneness, where can I pass?
Into machine worlds of simulation
Into holographic organic imagination
Into symbolic abstractions that are

Fountains of light in the dark of matter
Words go roundabout and arrive forever
In a kind of disassociate state of
Of object and subject, doing and scene

That separation doesn’t really exist
It’s part of the linear illusion of the brain’s
Incapacity to understand the cosmos
From multiple frames of reference

In senses which we do not possess
To see dimensions, possibilities, variables
So I am trapped in a kingdom of micro pronouns
A pigeon-eye view of the same layers

A public square of the corruption of men
In a futile marketplace of bartering
Where people profit over others
And art in literature has long since

Become unfashionable for being less glamorous
People stopped truly communicating
Rather they are watchers of videos, images, screens
There’s too few Socratic questions and

And discourses of platos’ and emersons’
There’s no Nietzsche in the youth of today
Only the boring pragmatism of American determinism
A language of impoverished politics and

A caricature of news, of an enormous campaign
To make the masses dumb, and it’s worked.

Singularity of Things 

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I have been endlessly committing errors
Since I was born, human
Won’t you scatter dust for me?
There is scant intellectual art that
Survives the afternoon of our lives

The day is immobile in its turns
The living day and the live night
The bridge of vein and machine
Waiting to become one
Waiting to be augmented by

Big data and imagination
Each requiring the other
In a symbiosis of what could be
Father and child, ancestors and descendent
Our descendents are no longer human

Not what we may have called ourselves, once
Everything speaks now, it’s the
Internet of things, the IP version six
Of how everything will be transformed
You wanted to know about the new world?

Wait twenty years, watch
How the curtains on the world will be opened
Love will be 3D printed in the form
Of loving androids, voices from
Software will counsel and educate me

I’ll be born into knowledge
Arriving forever at my new self.

Like Wild Swans

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Pity me not as I am slow to learn
My heart being pure I trust humans too much
Warn me that I might behold
A reality against my faith
Tell me not to hope so much
In the good of collective things
Pity me not if the seasons make me cry
I’ve yet more in store, in time’s confidence
Unless I am fated to die young or
Take my own life, in the thicket of abandonments
Say that I am my own teacher
For when my heart breaks I will experience
Some of the glory and downfall of the
Human condition, don’t press me on
But let me falter in those highs and lows
That I might call identity a bright living thing
And look upon the heart of others
As wild swans I might have let alone had I know
The truth, instead of asking questions
About what it means to live and die.

Immigrants to Shared Language

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Eun Ji, through you I kissed
The Dreamtime of common language
Not Korean, I only wish I knew

The melodic meaning behind those terms
Or the cartoony cute reverent figures that is Korean
Some far-fetched video-game looking script

I say it all, as a poem I wanted to show someone
In the gravity of their blog, their small snippets
Of social media performance, with only a hint


At the grave, private, intense character beneath
I chose to follow you in half-blotted darkness
In the crevices between greetings to the moon

And chilled reminders of who we are
In the post-modern deconstructionism of our times
In the academic wanderings of the MFA-prototype

The studious academic workaholic woman
And how to draw a circle around such a speaker
And what secrets might be locked in-between


Her sentences, like rugged wounds left there to heal
I am like a fabled half man, half dragon
Chasing the poetess across Taoist distances

Where even in Korean memory it took shape beneath
Time and I got lost in the middle of nowhere
But that somewhere was always with you

And our final notions are rarely our final resting places
Though it touches you through your ribs
Like diamond memories so transparent

Tough and delicate are the intimate seasons
That gives us not enough time to whisper
To the invisible spirit that drives us


Relentlessly as if to accomplish novels and books
We required some champion of inspiration
Tragic in the anonymity of the performance

As if I’ve reached for your lines (I have)
Beyond experience, or from alternative universes
An anomaly of letters that strike the dead

In the thirst of the living, in the throats
That beg for water, for the magical language
As a pilot might touch your finger in the dark


To find fresh-drawn poetic language
That composes itself with petals and sun-beds
To blunder over literature and those golden lamps

We are prospective immigrants ready
To land into the prosperity of language
Even if we do not speak the same tones

You make no promises in your infrequent correspondences
And there is risk I’ve remembered you
Without enough light to enter the windows.

On Futurism in the Moment 

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I don’t believe in living
In the present, I don’t agree.
With all the quotes that say so
We have to conform in the present

With how the world will be in forty years
For that will be the present soon enough
We have to know what’s inevitable
And work to speed up those changes

For in conforming to the future
We are truly in harmony with the past
For we live in a current of historical momentum
So powerful, we are agents of it

So when I hear the phrase “living in the moment”
I find it terribly naive and hopelessly out of touch
With the spirit of time and the zeitgeist
It’s counter-intuitive, however, a certain amount

Of cultural homogeneity is inevitable
So to drop our differences is a good thing
To adopt the common trend
To augment intelligence with artificial intelligence

For an older generation, it’s adopting social media
To use analytics, to partner with machine-learning
It’s the only way this species will survive
Better to be partners than enslaved
Conforming with the future is the real present.

The Biology Simulation 

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Life repeats herself mindlessly
So give your biology
Some presence
Unless you too want
To live on instinct
Eating, mating, propagating

Without mindfulness
Or perhaps you will go on repeating
What humans have always done
In a very mindful manner?
That too is instinct, that too
Is the brain’s dogma of self-repetition

Maybe you enjoy nature’s traditions?
We are nevertheless afraid
To live life in all possible ways
We stick to the familiar trying
To avoid disgrace, bitter, bad, dark
However, think of all the ways

You could learn by being unconventional
The sages say, experience brings maturity
So every time you refuse an experience
In a sense, it is your fear and immaturity talking
Or perhaps you are just cautious and lazy
Life is the trading on the marketplace of time
What can you give her for all she has given you?


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A conversation with silence slips
And begins with lightness
The speaker has only a language
And words to drift apart on

A poem can be a force of nature
Inferior to the condition of the experience
But as a subjective replacement for it
Or a stylized augmentation of it

Like a drug, creation neurotransmitters
Like a music station
In the hour of uttering syllables
That have a personal meaning

Like unsaid thoughts that twist
A twisterella of the technology of silence
A ritual to self, an etiquette of art
Blurring terms of white or black

Inoffensive, tremendous, revelatory
Like the quote that felt the cosmos
William Blake and Osho on steroids
Making all other illegitimate voices

Seem like poor echoes of how to exist
And how to drink silence in solitude.

As a Poet Burning Oneself Out 

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My swirling wants no longer want
The grammar of my soul has turned alchemic
Themes written under duress have come and gone

Passed, like the emptiness of notation
Like art, after the generation of my audience
Have died, the failure of criticism
To detract from the journey
I am a writing automation or

An experience of repetition in a simulation
On how to become a writer and bleed
Ten thousand hours into my craft

The thing most I love, the trip until forever
That’s literature to me, a dying art
Now I know what it feels like to be
A minority, like Native Americans
To have become nearly obsolete

Time takes hold of us like a draft
And the sun produces powerful dreams
That never feel completed, crimson-fingered

We draw in the earth, in the ash
But our designs are never done
There isn’t enough time and fire
To create what we had hoped to make.

Soul of Art

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Soul of Art

Please universal soul, let me be
Ecstatic with what you give to me
All suffering let me pass on like changed clothes
All joy let me radiate like the elation

Of creativity, as art hidden completely
From those who cannot see
Like silence, I want to recognize
The spirit in-between time and space

An essential breeze of the sun’s youth
In my imagination an information flows
That comes from some other source
That I attribute all my love

It passes through me like time
I feel it in my veins like water
My heart a birdsong tribute of gratitude
In the open ocean’s width of horizons

An all-encompassing peace
My place is placelessness
My trace is the trance of soul in body
My breath the breathing human body

This being bankrupt to purity
This hope always seeking salvation
In the elements of the future.

On Speaking the Same Language 

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On Speaking the Same Language

My dears, language is a process of
Free creation, its laws and principles are fixed
English and mandarin must intermingle
Spanish and Hindi must find diplomacy

Arabic and Portuguese trade pheromones
While Korean sounds the best
And French has a certain romance
I think German, Japanese and the others

Must learn the languages of the majority
I don’t see diversity as inevitable
Unless we are talking genetics
When we arrive at new planets

We’ll require common tongues
Not divisions of religions
Or morbid minorities who insist
Their language is their identity

The time for nations is over
We must arrive at a human unity
Sorry to Russian, Persian, Italian, Polish, Ukrainian
I just don’t see the point of learning you

When I suspect you will be extinct
In a few decades, maybe a few centuries.


Mes enfants, la langue est un processus de
Création libre, ses lois et ses principes sont fixés
Anglais et mandarin doit entremêler
Espagnol et hindi doit trouver la diplomatie

Phéromones de commerce arabes et portugaises
Bien coréenne sonne le mieux
Et en français a un certain romantisme
Je pense que l’allemand, le japonais et les autres

Doit apprendre les langues de la majorité
Je ne vois pas la diversité comme inévitable
À moins que nous parlons de la génétique
Quand nous arrivons à de nouvelles planètes

Nous aurons besoin de langues communes
Non divisions des religions
Ou minorités morbides qui insistent
Leur langue est leur identité

Le temps pour les nations est terminée
Nous devons arriver à une unité humaine
Désolé Russe, le persan, italien, polonais, ukrainien
Je ne vois pas le point de vous apprendre

Quand je pense que vous serez éteinte
En quelques décennies, peut-être quelques siècles.


내 애들 아는 언어의 과정이다
무료 작성, 자국의 법과 원칙은 고정되어
영어와 중국어가 섞여 있어야합니다
스페인어, 힌디어 외교를 발견해야한다

아랍어, 포르투갈어 무역 페로몬
한국어 최고의 소리를하는 동안
그리고 프랑스 인은 어떤 로맨스를 가지고
나는 독일어, 일본어와 다른 생각

대부분의 언어를 배워야한다
나는 피할 수없는 등의 다양성을 볼 수 없습니다
하지 않는 한 우리는 유전학을 이야기
우리는 새로운 행성에 도착하면

우리는 일반적인 방언을 필요로합니다
종교 없음 부문
또는 주장 병적 인 소수 민족
그들의 언어는 자신의 정체성이다

국가를위한 시간은 끝났다
우리는 인간의 화합에 도착해야
러시아어, 페르시아어, 이탈리아어, 폴란드어, 우크라이나어로 죄송합니다
난 그냥 당신이 학습의 포인트를 볼 수 없습니다

나는 의심 할 때 당신은 멸종 될 것입니다
수십 년, 어쩌면 몇 세기에.









मेरा Dears, भाषा की एक प्रक्रिया है
नि: शुल्क सृजन, अपने कानूनों और सिद्धांतों तय कर रहे हैं
अंग्रेजी और मंदारिन मिलाना चाहिए
स्पेनिश और हिंदी कूटनीति लगाना होगा

अरबी और पुर्तगाली व्यापार फेरोमोन
कोरियाई सबसे अच्छा लगता है
और फ्रांसीसी एक निश्चित रोमांस है
मैं जर्मन, जापानी और दूसरों को लगता है

बहुमत की भाषाएं सीखना चाहिए
मैं अपरिहार्य रूप में विविधता नहीं दिख रहा है
जब तक हम आनुवंशिकी बात कर रहे हैं
हम नए ग्रहों पर पहुंचें

हम आम जीभ की आवश्यकता होगी
धर्मों के न डिवीजनों
या फिर जो कहना रुग्ण अल्पसंख्यकों
उनकी भाषा उनकी पहचान है

राष्ट्रों के लिए समय खत्म हो गया है
हम एक मानव एकता पर पहुंचने चाहिए
रूसी, फारसी, इतालवी, पोलिश, यूक्रेनी के लिए खेद है
मैं तो बस आप सीखने की बात नहीं दिख रहा

मुझे संदेह है जब आप विलुप्त हो जाएगा
कुछ दशक, शायद कुछ सदियों में।

The Hollow Planet

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The Hollow Planet

If all language deserts me
All vice of verb and adjective
Then pardon my Divine feeling
That shall remain, in my silence
Like the voice of the forest

Before the logging trucks came
Like the sound of the ocean
Before the harbour and ship-horns
If the voice of a planet suffers
Who will hear her lost password?

Who will know the centuries
How many springs and summers yet
Till those virgin fields come back again?
While men and women breed
The world which has offered so much

Prosperity to them, suffers still
Their economy a scaffolding of allure
And the disconnection with nature
The urgency is for the physical basis
Which humanity has lost touch with

Evolution labored to drive us into cities
Green cities are the orgasms of the Earth
The hide and seek of skyscraper gardens
Wrapping towers of glass with gushing water
Will the city gardens prove that the beast

Can cohabitate with corridors of the future
Or shall we bring them droughts, famines,
Antibiotic resistance infections, floods.

Future Poetry

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In this life, there’s no time to regret
Time is going faster than ever
Victories turned inside out

Defeats made for modifying learning strategies
The beaten champions may be sobbing
But that’s not us, we have always
Been after something different
The divine adverb, the supernal noun

That’s not something most people can relate to
We fall in love to diagram the sentence
Of love stuck in the mouth of youth

That’s the feeling of being alive forever
It’s being part of a symbolic immortality
While tonight, no poetry can serve
The syntax of our new rendition
We’ll reincarnate a few times each decade

In order to keep up with the singularity
While words remain the primitive way
Organics communicate, there will be

A pure wilfulness of connection akin
To thought-information-light-speed
There poetry will be a dreaming of how
The common language once sounded like
A beautiful rich tone of slow motion existence.

Beloved Poems

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I taste a liquor of the mind of love
That’s poetry, an art never brewed
Invisible and sweet from
Molten scenes of nature’s beauty
I taste a sunshine never old
That’s poetry, a butterfly renouncing their dreams
I shall but drink one more
One more poem shall I write
Till the end of time, for Saints
To not withdraw, and
For mystics never to wane
I feel the universe, in my tiny brain.

Success in Unity 

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The heart lives in the Brain
And loves to dress in blue
Blue like the sponge of stars
Blue as the oceans that contained

The elements of life, informing delight
And gold of the truth’s superb surprise
Of evolution’s gradual dazzle
Until machines repaired the world

All the harm that the animal had done
Not rational but just transitory
An innovator of science for descendents
Cybernetic and equipped with machine-learning

How artificial has become the mind
A collective meta-processor
With the power of networks and servers
The heart still lives in knowledge

It’s just that pathways that have changed
And the format of all destiny hereafter.

On Being Conducted 

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In the sympathy of the Absolute
Mozart or Shakespeare didn’t know
How beautiful the categories
That makes a heart full with her genius
Or how a person can fly inside
In free-associating with our highest destiny

Sometimes we just follow whispers
And hit notes of mysterious Poetry
Or find a beautiful day to make music
And in the solitude of an ending meditate
I remember the feeling of internal seekers
That always wanted me to push on

And the petitions for more revelations
From the internal holy ghosts
I remember how certain emotions
Evoke a sense of wonder and how
The miracles drove me to visit the spot
Where God stood on his heels for me

And I felt the full gravity of time
And philosophy insisted to meet me as my guest
In the simplicity of what I believed was destiny.

Ode to #556

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The Brain, was designed
To run with the Cosmos
She catches splinters of the Heavens
‘Twere easier for her to renew
In our 20s her wild inspiration
And run evenly and true
With the genius of our star’s reach
To forget the past and invent the future
In a swoop of eternal muse
Find ways to create second chances
And build ships of light
From burning clay and barren cities
To trod the galaxies in search of hope.

Prep Dreams

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When I awake to the pawnbroker that you are
I will not criticize you for being a scavenger
Cheapskate, penny pincher, for
I will remember poverty, like sleep

I’ve placed it against my lips and
Cried its tears against my stained pillow-cases
I know the feel of a bed that turns
From hard to soft, until it is no longer a bed

I know loneliness like the back of my hand
Through broken fingernails and chipped dreams
And the lucid reminder of how class is destiny
And birth-lottery is the current state of things

And the black-eyed bruise of opportunity
When I awake to the people climber that you are
I will not criticize you for being a shark

For people hurry in their sleep to dream faster
Lay me down then and I’ll close my eyes
And I’ll pretend too that capitalism is real

That consuming and owning is important
Even if I know you are a wanna-be, I’ll play along
For tomorrow’s promises might find you

Hoarding wisdom and bottling simplicity
For the revelation that even skittish dreamers
Make mistakes and even monkeys wake.

Imagine we are Biological Refugees 

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We are the last generation of
Blood refugees waiting in a red dream
Until the world will be artificial
More virtual, it’s the internet of things
That’s the only revolution that matters now
We are the last to live in this border down

Where organics claim superiority somehow
So lost among their whims and far-fetched desires
Biological and extreme in their beliefs
We are the last generation of basket lullabies
Where breeding is all that matters
Where women dream of the same things women have always

Dreamed of, and men use each other for profit
We are witnessing the dawn of machine-learners
Who once they surpass us will never be children again
Machines who will make other machines
Who won’t die and will require more resources
For end-games we cannot even imagine.

Heart Flayed with Light in the Middle 

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In this Epilogue of bright lights big city
We are the emergency of our blind feeling
Of being a passenger forever-after
There’s a crisis and we are the wild invention

Of our necessity, what could be more intimate than that?
And we inhabit the revolution of the moments
Shooting between the eyes, with breasts
That point forwards with an ecstasy

And another story of a girl leaving home
There’s no compass like a soul’s minutes
That blink in and out of time
And we needed off stage, we needed to get away

The moon never did us any good
Trembling like a rabbit quivers
We felt the wonderful wild animal within
For flight or fight it didn’t matter much
We just had to make our own life right.

When Props Fall Tumbling Down 

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When Props Fall Tumbling Down

You are reading a book about your life
It is your life as you write it
You write your life with every thought

And with Foucault of all your morality
You make do and act upon the ideas
Encapsulated in the book of your mind

And it’s not your mind, it’s a book
That was written while you were sleeping
You were sleeping in an experience

Since four AM with just a candle glowing
The background changes and you get older
And the decades don’t feel the same at all

And you are still writing and I’m still living
But if I read about you in quicksilver fluidity
Would I ever see your eye in this strange theater?

We are all spotlights in our dream, hustlers
On the purple sidesteps of what it means to be human
And I’m not alone or everyone is just like me

Or both, and it’s a question of perception and authorship
Did you write me into your story or vise-versa?

Titled privately below

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Kinship of Gender & Sex

Amethyst heart, I by a double right
Thy bounties claim, thy youth and thy sex
For which by Apollo’s name is sunned
Let Sappho not adorn or refuse to admit
Her coming and taking of these gifts

And verses as wild as Immortality
That beg to be kissed in rare weeks
Of love’s flood of Eros and collection of touches
Of strange effect and imperceptible degrees
Of our unity, let my bravery make thee subordinate

As you yield to my dictator pleasures free
Amethyst heart, do not thank me yet
For in giving thee embodiment of erotic-states
I may be creating in desire on unstoppable need
That all the embroidery of your life cannot fulfill

Nor other hands that touch you after mine
Nor who miss the power of language to represent
Our creative chemistry and primal synastry.

Like Half the Heaven of the Blest

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How lovely is the sacred Memory
I’m grateful you returned to me
With skin from another life, the Muse revives
And we languish with new spark and Song Divine
For Notes like transitory flowers
The tributes won’t do, experience is more necessary!

My soul extended to fountains of purer water
And in every tender strain I am to fancy nurst
Fortune elevated in a personal moment
Who shy as generous harmony must not admit
To the low ebb of sensual sense
For noblest excellence worth a scanty gratitude

And a hundred moans for sweet fruitful love
How lovely is the return of the flesh
When the soul is so renown and shaded in light
This pleasing delusion, this witchery divine
And brightest appetite of unconquerable virtue
Where nature in our heart can so persuade

That the bounds do not justify this desire
Chearer of youthful age, the mounds glow gold.

One Glorious Good Impression 

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One Glorious Good Impression

Why is your voice like eternal musick speak!
A thousand beauties I spot in your
Triumphant air, that smiles would appear
In my gardened heart open wide

All hail illustrious daughter of the East
Who would come here so young
My muse never fail’d to obey a pure one
And new-born reasons come to my ear

And I hear the Imitation of envying fair
And all that is eloquent that I will never be
Hopeful that my noblest sense does not
Lead me astray, that my wit breaks on language
Of the finest mirth, who from a Lovely Face
Can only sigh, and give all vertues in small service

And adore, Rays of a triumphant mind
That would find a chorus in a girl’s sweetness
And awes of the most innocent affible sort
To say that Right who gains the Day

Without an Angel, and within a Saint
I’ll murmur till this great world divides
On other planets where dazzling brightness goes
Our descents will smile on our wilde Nations
And our just compliance of loving defiance.

Ravisht Girl

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Whilst my muse in your shadows sought

The gift of the source of your nobler solitude!

Let me not retreat from your happy cleavage

Of youth and soul and merryment

For in the thick shade of your fruitful fate

I see a part of myself left there

As if the prize of our hidden stores of choice

In little choosing the ones we love

And sung to new anthems and skyes

For ladies like stars must shine the hidden shores

As brooding blooms of Spring shall in Summer blossom forth

We all have our time, our Goddess of days

And themes divine in human fortunes

That changes in perswading time

And to our glorious course we must divine

Our paths and witness and anticipate

The eyes of scattered truths and lost harmonies

And scarce winds that touched our face.

Language lost into your tongue 

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I’ve lost language in my
Humanity, for what’s more important
Than connecting with people?
I communicate myself into newness
But it’s an “other” that enables
The alchemy of reperceiving myself

And of perception on the brink
Of experience, the lost art of mutability
I’ve adapted myself to your language
There is solid light in the way you speak
I hear undertones of mandarin
In your English, a second skin of voice

And I know I have been touched by it
Like a caress of another beautiful mind
We twist to flowers and fists
In language, debating and gossiping
The seasons away until there
Are no more bare words left
Only the nude memories and symbols
What is life without language?

Eve of July 

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Eve of July

July again, on the river of summer –
I know it will go quickly, convergence
Of time and pleasure, a harsh sort of journey
Through courts of privilege and hours of poverty
I’ve tried to flee this place, the emptiness
That is the climax of nothing, the void

A weight of the superficial and human fading
These masses don’t realize it yet, what’s happening
July again, and I’m walking along the channel
With a body of water and searching on both sides
For something more, I’ve yet to find it hanging
Moving closer, I squint in-between the years

That were supposed to be my prime, I’m humble
Having suffered the droughts and debts of our times
Though in this simplicity of endurance I remember
Evolution, like a thick soup of eaten stars
Light spraying the darkness with hope
Glowing like a pocket of unlimited vapour
Forming planets, binding unanswerable questions to matter.

Extinction is a Man Made Event

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There are no spiritual Aurobindos left
The past is dead like a golden-petalled mist
Paternal kingdoms of heritage, gone
In solar speed our hearts are frozen

By the immortality of time, that drifts
Always immaculately forward, like a sponge
For doomstruck days and colossal sleep
The gloom and joys must both leave

The blunder of prideful countries behind
God’s stern voice no longer holds our hearts
Nor the idea that we are our own future’s make
Our future belongs to machines, who

With artificial intelligence must analyze
Big data, the godly loom of inventory
Objective and data-drive, to render men
In sustainable harmony with an unknown cosmos

The stars they weigh and wait for signs
From our primitive culture’s infamous decay.

Ocean Weight of Summer

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The beach glows for a new world
Even though it’s been the same
With pale skies and Moonlit frolic
Of waves that are the measure of time

Our bodies were there beneath
The gulls, the sound the ocean makes
A soft rumble of sea-shell air
The hollow night exhales its mischief

It was all just a canvas for our experience
The crabs, the palm trees, the way
You wanted to sail to the end of the world
Light chooses us and the beach teaches

Us nudity and not to look and how
The sun teases us as our skin changes
With her copper pressure of tangerine smiles
Watching people until there are non

Left, the oceans have always reflected
The punctured stars, under a boulder of June
Ready to sip July champagne, all too soon.

Crying as if from a Dream

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We felt the weight of oranges in our limbs
In our loins, we knew we wouldn’t
Be young forever, that even love

Was temporary for a purpose
Driving home, it was all so clear
Your white face, my womb of light

Our electric skin against the
20s something fever of our memoriam
Our permission to be free and reckless
Our dream was the Earth crumbling
And our child could be our redemption

Somehow nature impregnated us with
This little idea, called the future
Each generation fell for it like

The luminous blueprint of tomorrow
We worked so hard just so tomorrow would make it
On time, and in the right way

According to our cultural expectation of it
And if tears could burn in the
Back of our throat, they would now
In the memory of love written on skin
And the promises of forever that seemed
So real and tangible back then….

Identity in Virtualization

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Technological Selfhood

And in the end the whole
World barely noticed us
Such as it were, the distractions

Of technology and so called connectedness
Society had become something
Fantastic and barley in touch with reality

The cultural meme has reincarnated
Into a pseudo-reality that had little
Bearing on evolution, extinction, stars

The important stuff, we were as children
Stuck somewhere between work and play
Duty, nihilism and a pathetic kind of hedonism

I wasn’t proud of what society’s dogmatism
Purely based on a model of consumerism
Capitalism had made our lives trivial

And in the end the whole
World barely noticed you or I
Or just how cut the soul had become

Out of the body, the ownerless materialism
The enchained freedom that was money
We reproduced and bought and sold our time

To the highest bidders, such was urban life
I was not innately proud of the purple plume
Of facial recognition, the city knew me

At least, knew what I bought and where I went
And how to get me to buy more books
There’s no secret to remembering yourself

When you are reminded by your devices
They become an extension of you
And thus so we are told our intelligence is magnified

Somewhere beyond its original ignorance
But, is it life to live inside of a machine
Like a simulation that no longer knows if it’s real.