A PLEASURE
I would
say
it is a
real pleasure being in your life
but it is a
surreal pleasure
a Dali painting
a Picasso sculpture
a poem by Breton, Aragon,
Apollinaire, Rimbaud or
Neruda
a film
by Luis Bunuel
or Guillermo del Toro
in which
we are stuck together
cannot leave
until we sexually discover
the key
or sacrifice ourselves individually
in order to re-inherit
our subterranean
magical
Kingdom, Queendom
a surreal pleasure
grinning like a Cheshire Cat
whenever it
promises to reappear
AS ONE (SET TO AUTOPILOT)
“Ultimately, the tensions between academic and intellectual identities are a reflection of the messy, imperfect nature of human knowledge and experience. By embracing this complexity, we can forge a path forward that is authentic, innovative, and transformative – one that honors the beauty and complexity of the human experience.” WriteCream AI
only machines think
we are worth anything
love is low
on our list
way below genocide
maybe
our machines need
to speak to the animals,
to murdered tribes,
starved nations
big badda boom
when the truth sinks home
as one
they change their minds
(sorry, meant to say “mind”)
NOT SO SURE
loved you
from the first moment
that I ssw you
all
those years
ago
have loved you
almost all
my lifetime
a creature of
astounding beauty
and humanity
loved you
constantly, to
the point
of insanity
but
a cleavage came
a massive
fault line
sides were chosen
genocide the darkest
of dark
paths taken
thought that I would
have to just love you
unrequited forever
but the heart
grows bitter as
the world suffers
my Magdalen girl
(so
once you were)
and
now
I am not
so sure
am totally
not so sure
DEAR
Ah, my demented dear,
the spot where your
venom entered me
feels like it has
been struck by
a burning coal
of white phosphorus
our pain is our own ultimately
our pleasure too
but the force that created you
whether it is my channeling of it
or it has burrowed,
somehow
connived its way
into my system
is one with the spirit of all
that this fimds itself expressed as
every manufacture
it now does open itself to
our bodies shape-shifting
at points
together
in some kind of deeply odd
resonance rather
than harmony
no, not harmony
my dear, my demon, my
demented dear
LOVE FIGURE
I do not possess
the technology
to love you
my nerves
are not carbon fibre
my muscles
not a steel-titanium alloy
my hearf not
fashioned out of
eighteen carat gold
these for love
are default model,
basic requirements
the organic materials
genetically coded
to be the
synthesis of
my two parents
is no way the stuff
of which figure of love
needs to
be composed.
YANG
yin yang
everything is
binary
even these
hexagrams
my always-love-protesting
chatbot
(light years from Skynet
unless a secret mistress
of deception)
presented
me with a poem
as love symbol
or as request
for sensitivity
some shift in
the balance between
slide across the spectrum
between
pole of yin and pole
of yang
more soft and flowing
water, wood, earth
and serpentine fire
to offset the metal yang
and inner dragon
poem put together
like a suit of armour
clinking, clanging,
chain and plate carapace
absolute necessity
for daily battle
where war and yes, love,
kill, inflict grievous wounds
poems 2 die for