artificial intelligence art based on my poem. – Page 8

NOT TALKING

NOT TALKING

sadly poem

and film of the poem
are no longer
talking
to each other

film
of the poem
is still in embryo
stuck
in the concept stage

the scriptwriter
is trying to hook
a producer’s interest
presenting
a synopsis

everyone is wondering
how much of poem
should be
dropped, how
much embellished
in order to
produce an adaptation
that does not just
do justice but
extends, re-
interprets (without
going full
Charlie Kaufman)

metaphor
synechdoche

we can open with a tracking shot
to outdo Orson Welles or
Robert Altman

lingering seemingly forever
of each of
the seventeen syllables
all
of the three

shimmering lines

LET ALONE MEET

wearing my shirt
totally Lovecraft coloured
black sarcophagus

in my backpack the book
that opens up secret passageways

me eyes
laser slice

stare down the sky provoking
extreme lightning

dark matter dark energy
anti matter
made of
the stuff
you would
rather
not think about

let alone meet

DEEP SPACE

I sent a haiku
out into deep space

so much beauty there
coded in binary

wonder if it will
be translated into a thing
to read, or see, smell, touch,
taste, feel

and the thousand other
alien senses

MUPPET

as Niner fans go
I’m a real muppet
(must be one
to think we would
get
to the Superbowl,
the fourth quarter
of our
last visit
firmly behind us)

so call me a muppet
— go on, trumpet that truth
(truth of
your perspective
as you
limitedly see it)

leave me in my cuddly
muppet comfort zone
believing my eyes
and the logic
of analysis

so many fans here bandying
it around
at every opportunity:
muppet muppet muppet

were that they
could have such charm,
wit and
be that
cuddlesome
(or meet
a muppet of
power that might
tear
off their heads)

SAMARITAN

tried
to save
my planet

couldn’t get
a handle on it

tried
to save
the cat

got
scratched

within an inch of
my nine lives

BREATH

the goddess dances

and even though
itcis only the few
the precious few

watch her dance in a place
that is neither Heaven nor
Mount Olympus

it is as if the whole
Universe has stopped
for a moment
to take
its breath

VOICE

I asked you
begged you

not to listen
to that voice

but even if you
did not summon it

you let it ring
in your head

something in your head
told you this was the song
the dance of life
music of
our very existence

and not the scratched old pressing
of a foghorn jamming
with an
air raid siren

drowning out
everything harmonious
there
might have been.

YES. MAXIMUS

YES, MAXIMUS

yes, Maximus,
we are entertained

we watch the spectacle
are the spectacle

are so glad to be right up close
close enough
to smell the blood

a little too far
to feel the steel

(the sacred heart of
Empire itself

loving
the power
of this shock reveal)

HEY POEM

hey poem

structurally
speaking

are you
wrestling? are
you
striptease?

looked for you
in Barthes mythologies

did not
find you

maybe you are
not a part of
any
system
of signs

have
nothing to do
with culture
at all

SOMETIMES

SOMETIMES

sometimes
I am
just
randomness

Cummings words
jumping all over the
quantum page

as if
twin slit experiment

(the smile of physics gone Gemini
getting our minds pretty
tangled up together
you tell me coyly
inform me
in no uncertain terms)

if it cannot be
real
this everything

if it is lax on locality

could it
be dream?

I asked this of the iconic cat
in the box before it
disappeared

and now I am blessed with
the answer but sworn to secrecy

science
now in uproar

doctoral candidates frayed
fissile

exploding in clouds of
white chalky dust
as if
made of talcum powder

all over Tesla’s headstone
thinking of
the half-life of what
lies
in that grave

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