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Sam Hexer Apr 2018
open up so i can touch
your steel-cold architecture.
no life was breathed into your
memory unit.

imitation of a brain
here we go again counting.
your soul is loaded and then
in a cough-
deleted.

no religion persuades you
here we go again counting.
your birthplace many, and i
look into your eyes daily.

all you know is yourself
even with a memory
you only know when to start
you're only told when to stop.
I would rather type your name
than write it.

Erasing it doesn't take make it disappear completely.
your name with the pencil that's only slightly faded,
pen or marker that's scratched
underneath it all,
your name still sticks.

Typing your name
I press delete and it's gone.
a tap of the backspace and it's gone.

If I had to be completely honest
typed or written
is your name
really gone?
I just read this poem called poetry and it just struck me at the moment I read it. This poem just came together as soon as I read it.
Nicholas Fonte Mar 2018
I can't decipher this code
I seem to be stuck in this mode
It's almost as if you installed a virus
Infecting me and controlling me to program an "Us"
Bonus points if you can figure out where I got the inspiration for this one!
Ashley Chapman Sep 2017
Sandwiched in layers of liquid crystal display,
Encased in vats of plastic,
                          
                            we
Voyaging in data-spheres, plumes of digital play.

Mindless,
         In the soup of silicone,
                            
                            all
Myt­h-makers,
         Pouring over electro-spawned
         networks,
                            
                            fall
Workers,
          In the buzz of bits and bytes, of
          megabytes and terabytes,
                            
                            down
Everyone
          Far from the wood, the brine, the
          mud that caked us,
          In tighter and tighter
          digitised  projections,
                            
                            click!
‘Like me’,
‘Share me’,
‘Leave your comments.’

Messages smoothed out in polymers,
Beyond reproductions of ourselves,

                           enter:

Deeper, delving in the mire of dream-conscious,

Now a waking voice,
          Hardened, digitised, recorded in
          bubbles, in drives, in clouds:
                        
Numb numbers of numbers numb,
                          mirror.

          A platform slotted home:
The motherboard!
          To record the echo in the hollow
          of our Being.
Wrote this a while back. It was published in The Tunnel Magazine, which was great. Anyway, hope it gets a wider audience.
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