Breathe...
(2... 3... 4...)
National Poetry Month. I don't profess to being a poet, though I dabble and on occasion think, sure, that one works. My 19 year-old son has taken up writing in the last year, fiction and poetry, he didn't even know it was National Poetry Month and they were pouring out of his brain. He's sent me something like 80--yes, 80!--this month. Short, sometimes philosophical, always clever insights, he was locked in. My girlfriend, Alessandra, she's a poet as well. When she writes them, my breath is often taken away at her mastery. I'm not kidding. GREAT poetry can do that to me. How about you?
Anyway...
Anyway, here's one that deals with what I wrote up there in the first paragraph and probably should be read out loud, especially once you latch on to the rhythm, even if the rhythm shifts, stumbles... It's there, don't be afraid.
So, without further adieu, strap in, really, please--and keep your hands inside the ride but your mind open to my madness--here we go...and Enjoy:
***
Ctrl/Alt/Delete
By
John Claude Smith
born of dust and spit
of gist and folly
molded in His image
(man)
swimming to the surface of the
primordial
o o z
e
gymnastic gene pool pyrotechnics
burning urge and bristling dreams
before dreams even had intent
àFOCUS ß
intelligent design…
sublime?--no--
Spectacular
ride the ocean’s fury
hot oil slick surfing sandman
sun-blasted shiny glass heart--
beat
(2...
3... 4...)
conch shell ears, seaweed souls
limbic system retrograde
push it to the here--hear and
NOW
listen to the electricity
(la)
(la)
s i n g
(la)
(la)
the body not just electric
blue sparkplug crackle
pistons pumping
plasma
via
plugged in pummeling
persistence
retinal scans, tympanic membrane mambo
hot-wired
steel plate cybergasmic carapace
smooth as sin before sin snaked in
~~~~~(slither)~~~~~
polished red, an Apple to the blind
fondled freely upon the legs, the laptop
mouth sucking, teeth and clacking nails
shredding
the pain of reality shuffles crab-like
sideways perceptions
evolution in overdrive
driven by ego--s
h
i
f
t
--gears
buzzing like mating insects
shimmering metallic antenna
tuning fork timbres
serenade the heavens
reminding them of times before
The Machines
when flesh burned and kisses aroused
NOW--
arousal is artificial
;-( emotionless emoticons )-;
the clank and grind of gears, the years, eons
monkeys climbing the evolutionary ladder
up to the cerebral cortex via the
s
p
i
n
e
of god
singed by soldering irons
and over-stimulated objectives
obsolescence at the edge
of the sound
byte tomorrow
“I am iron
man”
the soulless epiphany confirmed and
fueled by what substitutes for dreams nowadays
d
o
w
n
loads, zip files
computer chips and chipped perspectives
ultra-distracted, overDRIVEN
IPOD, iPAD, iPRAY,
me myself and i
am the center of this avaricious universe
so
Beware: The Future
our current path polluted
blackened,
brackish
greasepaint flood waters
gone viral
seesaw strategies, teetering
choose to remain human
please
(no masks, no grim facades)
(no avatars)
otherwise
all body shops will include:
1.) soul tune-ups
2.) mecha-heart replacement
3.) IV integrity transfusions
SPECIAL BONUS:
essence and
e t h
e r
injections into the illusion of humanity
tie it off and tap the vein
promoting pacifying
brain puddle pleasure
because
WE are the ‘what if ’ gone cataclysmically
Wrong!
Ctrl/Alt/Delete
***
Whatever, haha, it was fun to write, I'll say that much. Rollicking, pseudo stream-of-conscious Fun!
Back to fiction with the next post, I'm sure.
;-)
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