I thought you were dead, I said.
When the bell ring-tone tolled, I answered a
poetic quest to see for whom the bell tolled, a personal
call John Donne could never have phathomed
a wireless, recordable, broadcastable
dialogue with an old aquaintance, long
how, not for whom, for me,
does this phone ring?
I love old poet guys, get in they haid 'n' giv'em a glimpse
see say the seers see
there it was
myst it flew past into the pen-
of missed theories.
Phone call. Brrring me all attention...
Answer out out lout, this is he (I am he, called by name)
Old John Donne just melted at the idea
of 4g cellular,
for sure for whom the bell tolls.
I wink, think,
toll paid, extol the truth, appraise the worth
Pay the price.
Hear the message, next,
after the good news
message in the media
(I seen the movie, I know it all, from the fall
t' now, nobody saw past
yesterday or ever, after today
while it's called today.)
At the point of no return, nobody knows.
Allusions are locks, listen.
Read. Buy of me, whispers wisdom, each piece of me you see,
the seeing, known, judged
worth the weight of believing as
in all the light we have,
we always have,
as long as we are in the world, the light of
the world, the salt in the electrolyte,
we are that, too;
as if material ATP pings into light, from power we provide,
leaving ADP for recycle and recharge,
message sent. Ditdaditdit Dah didah
Find The Answer. Look for what you hope, don't lie.
deep in you,
you say you hang here, in your comforted zone,
converted from old
erroneous zones all piled up, like an igloo
pending completion of global warming and sealevel rise.
The signal the world sensory essentials perceive
idiot lights in 1920, now,
world signals have
e-volved into sensory arrays tied five-gee wise to
the honest-to-god globalbrain
Artistic-witty Invention, AI, augmented intelligence
for fact checkers, to use in governing the untamable lying tongue,
true to its quant-if-i-able motivator point:
no lie is true. Zero is not 1, nor any other imaginible thing,
zero is nevermore
than nullness in a position imagined re
ifiable, re-alified, holder of nine's place
the increase decreases suddenly and the patterns we ex
spication-wise morph from razor sharp creases to
Evil has a snowball's chance in hell,
ha ha ha lol AI think turing tests are responsible for cognitive
neural nets leaking
from left ears, silken threads, lacing through wars and peaces,
bubbles building up around
preciousnesses the size of a single trans-re-trans-re-trans
muttered once, on the shore, as now
fill me less,
fill me none, no care is mine I cast them on
Take 'em away with this next wave of breath
After an unexpected dialog with a former warrior friend, from the days of dying for causes