Mechanical reactions
slither through the cortex,
Binding our beliefs into
a solid jellied mass.

The peons go without a care,
wisdom is not their share,
only to be appeased
in the short term
is their game.

Yet the one who dances freely,
Gracefully fluttering down the walk,
gets stared at and gawked at,
Ridiculed and mocked.

The program
does not recognize the patterns
that are involved,
and the programmers are just too vain
to change the program's
stiff and rigid brain.

So while the programs interact,
the dancer keeps on dancing,
sensibilities in tact.

She notices the patterns,
the snide remarks behind her back,
the stares, the whispers, wonders,
of the program's capacity cap.

How she wishes just one
free person could truly understand
what it's like not to be a robot,
but a compassionate human.

Seas of judgement, seas of motion,
Seas of jealously and hate,
motivated by confusion,
in this altered AI state.

One day there is a person
walking out of sync,
the rest of the people shrink away
from the lone independent freak.

Free thought and new ideas
Are poison to their wires,
new data it can handle,
but independence acts like fire:

Burning through the program
like an arrow with a purpose,
piercing through its hardened heart
rendering the program worthless.

The boy who parted the sea of monotony
found this dancing girl,
and together created a barrier
shattering programs with a twirl.

By the power vested in me,
I command you to think,
Think twice about your actions
or you will find that you will sink
Into a sticky, jellied mass
where your thoughts will cease to think.

As I sit silently,
Observing my room darkening around me,
Hearing the muffled murmurs of passerby,
I wait for the clock to strike upon the nine
for that is when I will be fulfilled.

There is little light
save for the fading light from my window
and the light by which I write
these musings seem dry and empty
of the vigor and posterity of my past.

Austerity and harshness replace
my normally warm and delicate features,
and even my writing feels estranged from me.

My hands that were my hands
do not spring forth a wealth of creativity;
stifling darkness surrounds.

Wallowing is not in my nature
as I remind myself,
and yet here I still lay.

In the company of a turtle,
By the light of its heating lamp
contemplating life's lessons
and feeling that heart tug
in a place deep down

Slipping sorely into a
sleepy state of sentient syllogisms
as logical as a bat sleeping under water
Distractions abound

Eyes heavy as the body begins the process
of hibernation while the brain fights
fervently for its moment in...

It boiled out of me
like a sharp harpoon,
pinning me to a wall
of certain destiny.

Swimming in the fate
I thought I had
tipping into a jar of vanity.

The transitioned lenses
seeing past and future
concurrently,
Shake their heads in protest
with confidence to be feared.

What makes one doubt,
to question the path of inconsequential,
Who gathers the berries
and decides which are sweet
and which are bitter?

Only to taste is to know,
to experience and to feel,
to revel and relate,
to touch and know.

Thank you for coming along for the ride,
Take your seat sir or madame,
Ride in style,
Take a seat,
it's guaranteed to be worthwhile.

Just stay sitting
enjoy the feast
of ravishing delight
feast your eyes
upon the merriment
simply gaze upon this sight:

The coyotes
they bring the howling
catcalls and beer nonetheless
Simply dashing in tuxedos,
Simply smashing up the guests

Tumble over chairs to see
the magical attraction
of the heat between your knees
that fantastical reaction

Simply dripping with disease
that undeniable distraction,
With the sparkling eyes
and wandering hands
she slips her fingers
in
to a come hither gesture
what lies in store
what lies in wait is in the measure.

Follow her to the depths
assuring your destruction,
instead to find
you find the light,
dysangelion satisfaction.

Wild poets stylizing
beating the drum that must be heard:
Call from the depths that ancient heart beat,
Fill that genie ***: a word.

Snaking, Smoking, Slithering,
abundant with passionate lashing,
Tongue in cheek, match the beat,
Feed our hungry hatchling.

Unnerved by the dogged inaccuracies
Plagued by the sources that know,
Round about they seek the truth:
No further they must go.

To create a straight and narrow path
Out of the circle you must come,
Raised a glass anew,
Darkness must be overcome.

Nay, Nay, Nay, Nay
Faith is naught with you,
Belief comes from a higher power,
It is not your job to rescue:
For I am not lost.

On the hill where our *father lies,
Under a breadth of dew,
he lays there and he testifies
that he saw the King of the Jews.

Find the beat again,
Is it there, Charlie?
Do you hear it in your soul?
Rattling the cages of time,
you seem so very controlled
and you still have
a very long way to climb.

Daemon,
Purring animal that aids my hand
Coursing through my blood as
I attempt to dominate the page
with blank ink:

No pencil,
No tape-recorder,
No pen,
It is going,
It is going...

You cruel temptress
Who mocks me on a whim
or insatiable creativity,
that imagination
that explodes with vibrant imagery
when your back is turned
and the camera is off.

Scrambling like a father
urging their child to
"Do It Again"
Forced to beg the imagination
to allow me into its folds,
on my knees in utter
curious desperation:

No *genius am I,
but to be with you,
I seek.