You set out without a clear intention. You jot down vague sketches,
plans for prototypes.
Each iteration is
a little better
than the last.
It grows. It develops
into something familiar, yet
completely different.
Something new.
The gears fit better together.
You make it smaller and more compact.
Each prototype gleams with pride.
look.
it says.
*I am special, I am beautiful, I am
a marvel of engineering and metaphors.
Look.*
It is ready. You let it out, watching as
your machine, your invention
revs its engine and zooms off
into the night. It will plant itself
into people's minds and make them
Think, make their
gears fit better, make
them familiar but
completely new.
it is a poem. a machine called a poem.
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 12:45 AM UTC
You set out without a clear intention. You jot down vague sketches,
plans for prototypes.
Each iteration is
a little better
than the last.
It grows. It develops
into something familiar, yet
completely different.
Something new.
The gears fit better together.
You make it smaller and more compact.
Each prototype gleams with pride.
look.
it says.
*I am special, I am beautiful, I am
a marvel of engineering and metaphors.
Look.*
It is ready. You let it out, watching as
your machine, your invention
revs its engine and zooms off
into the night. It will plant itself
into people's minds and make them
Think, make their
gears fit better, make
them familiar but
completely new.
it is a poem. a machine called a poem.
