A PLEASURE

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)

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”)

WHICH IT DOES

WHICH IT DOES

thought I would
become the kind
of poet

who owns
a coffee shop
sits quietly
drinking milky
cappucino after
milky cappucino

observing the customers
penning interminable odes
tiny haiku

seeming, to the casual observer,
part of the furniture,
at one with the decor
thing
of the arts
with aristocratic veneer

not viciously satirical
exponent of anarchism
defender of Gaza
taking on
all comers as
if the world depends
on it
which it does

I have developed a cottage
industry
revolutionary practice
out of this mistaken identity