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?