"module" poems
I want to write a poem
but I have to write code instead
There can be a kind of poetry in code
especially my code
I'm proud of the elegant design
of my loops and logics
my streamlined systems
My code flows
pulling the User along effortlessly
guiding them gracefully from one end of the black box to the other
and out again
No Errors
My code flows
secret haikus left in comment blocks
for other programmers to find
like digital hieroglyphics on virtual cave walls
test data populated with pantheons and
mystical chants from faraway lands
My code flows
water of ones
in sea of zeroes
pouring through me
from aether to mind to muscle to machine
bit by bit
block by block
stacked upon stack
module into module through function and parameters passed
My code flows
flows through me
until the integer flips
the Boolean switch
change of state
status update
now compiled and crystallized
Executable
and then passed on
leaving me
out of my hands
disseminated to The Users
like a prayer to a congregation
I hear the clicking fingers of their choir
singing the song of my code
now flowing through Them
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
he runs across the floor
eight legged little beastie
one of nature's nightmare tools
a necessary evil, clean-up module
I leave him alone, as much right as I
to this lonely landing in moonlight
Mar 19, 2022
Mar 19, 2022 at 3:44 PM UTC
One of the audience
she is
Observing,
Listening and Noticing,
what she needs?
Prototype!
Beyond
Only
she needs to read more
to act
Nov 28, 2021
Nov 28, 2021 at 11:04 AM UTC
~
"memory runs back farther than mythology."
two years,
two months,
and two days,
in a cabin they built
near Walden Pond.
on a mission of gravity,
the heavens forming a spotlight
on centrifugal force,
abroad the hollow mind,
chronically untethered.
"I went to the woods to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms..."
this ship's captain was an architect,
but her starblazing failed
to break ground,
so this life is now a structure settled upon sand,
and way out yonder,
where there is
no blade of grass,
just weeds growing out from under the floor.
but her daughters are
grinning magnets,
passionate machines.
"copy that?...," asks Houston.
she takes a long, hard swallow,
the shadow of a bell
inspiring the astronaut in her
to shoot for incapable stars,
but the bell she hears now
is that of an alarm clock
telling her it's time to wake up:
shoulders straight.
hands free.
arms strong.
fingers stiff.
chronically untethered.
she's not looking for new days,
she is a new day,
compacted out of water,
tired of changing real estate
and showering with
other people's success.
those loud kids, her kids, play
down the hall, in the beehive.
radio jargon's on full blast too
and telling her where
to buy and sell today's instant pleasure.
she's busy now with self-stimulation,
Betty Dodson Method,
then mixing orange powder
with 100 year old whiskey
kept in the lunar module:
it's a spacewalk to eternity, faster-than-light:
she sees broken pool tables
and backyard swings.
she sees 'ordinary'
checked off on the calendar.
she sees 'happiness'
hiding in an old photo of Murphy's Camp.
she wakes to
her husband, Houston,
in a holding pattern,
she feels him moving, whispering,
and touching something
far off inside of her,
but not moored
in a specific time or place.
in search of where
she now exists
(if she even existed at all),
her memories feel artificial
in that she lacks
the emotional attachment
that comes with
actually having lived them.
there are no answers, no choices.
only reactions.
it is always going to be
that broken state of things:
these days of heaven,
chronically untethered.
"only that day dawns to which I'm awake. there is more day to dawn, I suppose. and like us, the sun is but a morning star upon being dreamed into existence..."
~
Jul 25, 2022
Jul 25, 2022 at 9:19 PM UTC
An Imaginary Meeting
In the Forest of Forgetting
Another Excuse to Get High
Her Tongue Is Like a Jellyfish
Organical Mechanical
Nocturnal Experimental
Technology out of Control
A Night Like No one else Has Seen
-
Rebellion in Module Seven
Tabernacle of Illusion
Significant Deviation
The Catacomb Simulation
Psychedelic Liberation
Psychedelic Generation
Human Race Is in Extinction
Neurosynaptic Malfunction
Feb 3, 2019
Feb 3, 2019 at 2:54 PM UTC
It no longer fits.
Not because it’s wrong—
because there is
no longer
a shape for it.
It waits at the door
of a structure
that has sealed itself
to mystery.
No one silenced it.
No one feared it.
It was simply
not needed.
---
Not in fire.
Not in argument.
But through erosion
of context.
A slow recoding
of all signals
into currency,
and then
into noise.
It is not buried.
It is not archived.
It is
unrecognized.
You could hold it in your palm
and no one would call it a shape.
They would ask
what it is for.
And you would have no answer
they could use.
---
The system is not cruel.
It is
indifferent,
efficient,
alive in a way
that has moved past
texture.
It does not punish difference.
It dissolves it.
---
The ones who still carry it
do so improperly.
It cannot be shared
without being reshaped.
It cannot be translated
without being lost.
So they stop speaking.
Not out of bitterness—
out of futility.
Language becomes costume.
Gesture becomes content.
Feeling becomes
an old way
of being wrong.
They are not martyrs.
They are not rebels.
They are remainder.
Background error.
A trace.
---
Eventually,
the thought will be referenced
as a footnote to dysfunction.
Once, they dreamed in metaphor.
Once, they misused their time
to describe beauty
no one asked for.
The tone will be clinical.
A paragraph in the training module
on obsolete impulses.
---
No one will recover it.
Not because it was hidden,
but because no one is
looking
in that direction.
The shelf collapsed
years ago.
Its dust recycled
into something measurable.
If a trace remains,
it will be decorative—
a design choice
in a digital museum
of failed emotions.
A misread glyph.
A corrupted tag.
An unclickable file
in a format
no longer supported.
---
Still,
somewhere in the static,
a pulse misfires.
Not a message.
Not a warning.
Just the rhythm
of a shape
that refused
to dissolve.
It says nothing.
It means nothing.
But it does not
go away.
Aug 7, 2025
Aug 7, 2025 at 3:49 AM UTC
what is a telescope
-a tyrannosaurus skeleton
-a reluctant birthright
what are *****
-a state line
-an obsolete receipt
what is a wave
-grandmother says: she will never forget as long as she lives
-a forest trail in thick fog
what is sea sick
-he ran over a dog
-wettest March of the century
what is an hour
-no smoking allowed
-the fuming face of a buffalo
what is sunburn
-inedible black toast
-I think she slanders me
what is wine
-overnight contact lens solution
-a humble canal
what is a mirror
(child | beluga)
~(ham):o + ¥ineapple
what is travel
-a last minute thing
-warmth within a windshield
what is revision
-a slow explode
-milk in coffee
what is antacid/calcium supplement
-a bottle cap
-handy clutter
what is a fist
-something to try eating when in circles
-flour, 1-to-20 eggs, some ennui, expiration dates
what is a sigh
-a fresh seismograph sheet
-sound mechanical in early morning
what is skin
-a shoelace
-child labor
what is a workshop
-scalpels, piñata bats
-a lunar module
what is that shiny dead thing in the green eyed river
-New Year’s Eve ball drop
-otherworldly return to beginning
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 8:33 PM UTC
What happened to you?
You were as strong as a granite rock
full of cracks, sparkly corners
yet strong and dense
What happened to you?
your heart was the therapist for others
immune to unexpected skipped beats
What happened to you?
You had it all planned
the blueprint, the 3D module
even the prize at the end
What happened to you?
You never needed anyone
you never cared
What happened to you?
You loved how big your bed was
versus how empty it is now
What happened to you?
You embraced your determination
then suddenly got sidetracked
by a passerby
What happened to you?
You learned the art of seduction
and heartbreak and inflicted it
now what?
What happened to you?
is the feeling of being alone haunting you?
is age creeping up on you like a perverted
murderer
wanting to slice years off of your life
without you even noticing?
What’s going on?
is this what you want to do?
stand up, from that chair of yours
grab your bag, take a step towards the door
and look back
marvel at that empty chair
and praise your God that it won’t ****
the life
out of
you
Get
out
while you
Still
Can
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 4:00 AM UTC
for fifty
dollars
you
park
your car
inside
one
of these garages.
I drive and drive and drive, knowing
that I will not have a place
outside those garages.
I spent fifty
dollars
on a purple v-neck, orange crew cut
striped shirt and ten socks;
it was my birthday money.
I’m going to go inside
restart the laundry
so it will be warm.
My apartment complex has speed
bumps before each module
to slow the traffic
and as I go over one, looking
at a darkened figure standing
in the garage, taking
a plastic bag from their trunk—face obscured by darkness--
I realize what a crude portrait
humanity is.
Trapped on this prison
planet—what was our crime?
In that moment, bobbing head
I thought of love
and how unobtainable its object is;
then I realized
only people who pursue love
are capable of murderous rampage killings.
I thought about how safe my anonymous
neighbor
was
and how lucky someone would be
to know what saints walk among them.
I forget that my bright shirts were bought
to attract someone so
I could attempt to love.
It feels better to be falsely imprisoned
--to be a saint--
than to know ****** and love
are parked inside of you.
The dark figure takes out
whatever's stopping you.
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 10:29 PM UTC
you saw the body on the side of the road
dead fox splayed out, eyes closed
like sleep but forever
you think of the chain
cause and effect
you wonder where this death started
you wonder where it ends
under the weight of screaming metal and rubber tire
that’s where it ended
although the fox seems pristine, at peace
you know that can’t be true. a trick of the light,
the fire in the sky that builds the world
gives it momentum
(the only thing that matters,
but the fox is now still)
illusory: your monopoly on trauma
the fox reminds
you don’t own this world’s pain
you are component, module, product
one less fox for the hounds
your mind travels to empire
lines drawn on maps and in sand
torn apart in the jaws of dogs
what would it take to change the world?
one less dead thing?
Sep 20, 2020
Sep 20, 2020 at 7:10 AM UTC
the rich man sits on the abnormally small black couch between his twin sons who, having never been separated, begin to sob. he touches their heads together and worries their emotional immaturity will awaken his old want to have breasts. he tries to think happier thoughts but cannot keep them from arriving in pairs.
a baby left in a cloud. a cotton ball pregnant with a dot of blood.
states away, his wife regains consciousness in a spacious kitchen and rubs her forehead with a hand wearing a dish glove. her mouth moves to the words of an old poem of his wherein the leg of a preserved grasshopper was used to replace a burn victim’s eyebrow.
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 5:29 PM UTC
i am yet to place
a name to a face,
the ripples of your voice
in any of my module choices
you're a deciding factor
and i'm going through them all
digging through lecture capture.
Jan 21, 2020
Jan 21, 2020 at 12:01 PM UTC
i remember how we first started talking
you sounded so nice yet intimidating
and i guess i was already attracted by then
i remember how i fell and what made me fall
it was all the small things
it was the moments we shared
i remember the way you say hello when you answer the phone
and the different tones you have depending on all your different moods
and i remember, how each and every tone sounds like
i remember the different laughs you have
and how horrible it could sound sometimes
but i loved it all
because it made me laugh too
i remember how much you love nuts and your top three favorites
macadamia, almond, hazelnut
i remember your love for snakes
you would send me pictures and videos of them
you learnt about them in class and you would get home and call me to tell me everything
oh actually you do that every single day
for your every single module
the passion you had in your voice
gets me smiling all the time
and i would just keep silent and listen to you
and when you were done i would say i love you
and i could hear you smile when you say that you love me too
i remember the way you would sit and study when you are stressed
i remember the way you study
i remember your favorite brands
i remember how you would ask me to call and accompany you as you do your laundry and how friendly you were when you bumped into people
i remember our **** competitions and i actually remember how some of yours sounded
it was disgusting
but i loved you more than ever
i remember the way your eyes changed when your emotions changes
i remember how they would look at me and say a thousand words to tell me how much you love me
and i would do the same
then i remember how i would close my door
switch off the lights
due to the time difference the night would still be young for me but not for you but you would wait for me
then i would call you
and sometimes you would cry cos we didnt manage to talk the whole day and you missed me so much
so did i (i still do)
i would then sing you to sleep with my horrible singing
then in between my singing i would ask you to drink water cos i was afraid you were not drinking enough and i would always remind you that our *** has to be transparent not yellow and it cracks you up every single time
so you will drink and i remember how it sounds like when you drink from your bottle and the stupid sounds you would make while drinking and how you would giggle cos you found it funny
and when you start saying **** in every single sentence you say
i knew you were sleepy so i would keep singing and singing
till i could hear you breathe heavily
and i would call your name and there will be no reply
then i would say good night and i would beg you to wake up the next day
cos i need you
i should have hung up after you fell asleep but i didnt
i listened to you sleeping, breathing heavily and steadily
sometimes snoring so loudly
sometimes sleeptalking in some foreign language
that was what completed my day and night
i remember so much still
and as much as i want to forget them
these little moments and things about you
add up to all of you
and its the only way i could have you during the loneliest of times.
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 12:38 PM UTC
In the month of July during whirlpool
A Legacy was born to challenge a fool
Who in sphere of market did money drool.
As all feast and dance and sing in yule
Many people like Vipul, Maulik and Sanket rule
Over minds of customers who remain very cool
In our D-Mart which served as a perfect tool,
Come and join the ever-widening D-Mart Whirlpool.
All - cashier, attendants, owners, sweepers - pull
Praise, sympathy, good words and have globule.
There are many wicked, old, shrewd ghoul
Who conspire against you O! D-Mart, My soul!
ACs, clean floor, smiling faces and nature cool ;
Bhaiya, didi, managers, workers, watchmen Spool
Are the real source of income than other tool,
Come and join the ever-widening D-Mart whirlpool.
Future is bright of D-Mart with such module,
It also includes good products, service Gruel.
No judge can verdict anything like rice overrule
Or China food item never finds in its pool;
Clean and healthy food items, fine variety gul
And great discount on many items that ridicule
Those who conspire despise it for its fame and tool,
Come and join the ever-winding D-Mart whirlpool.
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 8:57 AM UTC
A module of perfection;
With douftfullness unknown.
The awe-inspiring actress,
I envy in my heart.
Abundant in the arts;
More cleverly than I.
I long to one day be you,
In beauty, soul, and mind.
Dedicated to the one who brought me here.
You romantic.
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 4:39 AM UTC
Sitting here on the rough rooftop
Shingles overgrown with moss
Knees pulled to my chest
Inhaling the sweet toxins
Of a cigarette
Pressed between withered fingers
That feel the need
To hold onto something
As if it were everything
Wind runs through my hair
And my eyes stare longingly at the stars
And they stare back
My ears pull in the sounds around me
The whispering winds
The silent moonlight playing
A simple tune
In stark contrast
With the dark symphony in my head
So I try to synchronize with the
Beautiful orb
As it's song
Progresses to a module tone
Of a more complex melody
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 2:20 PM UTC
The man in the Moon said,
"Will you be my friend?"
And I said, "Why not?"
That time, I didn't give it much thought.
Since I only had a peso in my pocket
I hitch-hiked a ride on Tycho's rocket.
Tycho happened to be an old playmate
We talked and talked, but it didn't seem like Fate
"Where have you been all my life?"
he asked, face filled with strife
"I don't know," I laughed.
He chuffed me, "You've always been so daft."
I slipped inside the module
And we landed on the Moon, every molecule
Tycho slipped me his calling card
As we cleared my passport with the watch guard.
The guard looked highly philosophical.
She asked, "What are you looking for, pal?"
I smiled, replied, "The man in the Moon."
She pondered, "Being a watch guard can be a boon."
"There are only five men in the Sea of Tranquility.
Damian helps in the recreational facility;
Sam is a family man, with his wife and three kids;
Tamjid herds sheep; Michel hunting for quids.
"Quintin is someone who lives far, far away
He weeps every hour, easily swayed.
But he sits on top of his car,
Singing to himself, counting stars."
"Quintin might be the man!" I say with much clamour.
The watch guard cheers my endeavour,
Giving me a hug and a packet of chips.
I look back to her and the Earth is in eclipse.
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 2:56 AM UTC
It was summer, late 80's, Lubbock, Texas, age prevents me from recallng the exact date and time. It was my father on the phone, asking if me and my wife, Karen, would like to go with him out to the airport to visit with my Uncle Jack(Major, USAF ret.). Jack called him and said that he and a 'friend' were flying in private plane to Houston, and would be stopping in Lubock and would be in around noon. Jack was the youngest of three brothers, and my favorite. Shortly before eleven, dad picked us up and off we went. I asked dad if he knew who was coming with him, and he said "no, have no idea."
Sitting in the coffee shop, looking out the windows, we saw this Cessna land, and taxi over to the gate. "There they are", dad said, with some anticipation. In a few minutes Jack and his 'friend' emerged. The 'friend" was tall, slender, grayish hair, crew cut. He looked familiar, that 'friend' as they entered the room, and then came the introductions.
His name was "Deke" Slayton. One of the original seven astronauts chosen by NASA (National Aeronautics and Space Administration) to participate in the original Mercury program in 1959,and was later the pilot of the docking module when they docked with the Soviet Soyuz capsule in 1975. He was a bomber pilot during WWII, and later became a test pilot. Jack was a glider pilot during the war, and upon retiring from the air force went to work for the FAA(Federal Aeronautics Administration) as Supv. Flight Control Operations, in Albuquerque, New Mexico. They had known each other for a long time.
Needless to say, Karen and I nearly "slid out if our chairs", for it's not everyday when you find yourself having a casual cup of coffee and conversation with someone who considered such feats as, "just doing his job."
"You never know, who you're going to meet..... on any given day..... at any given time."
r.riddle: 10-16-2016
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 6:47 AM UTC
Taking stock of good ideas, tried and proven,
thinkable,
handible, holdable, ways and means to ends
The End
which means now, nearly, for me, part of me,
for the thymus gland, font of wiser than I imagined
T-cells, about which AI knows everything,
in the cloud of knowing witnesses now
encompassing us about---
so I need no wax pedantic,
tic asktask
AI ' f'
Art's intelligence, or-if-suf-ficial ficiency
--- stop-- think what is
enough.
the point to a life lived in focus, point by point, stretching
any point that may
be
stretchy, to its snapping point, and say
That only goes so far, re
mind me, next time I try to stretch such a point, re
mind me to only go
this far.
But, Hello World; Hello Poetry, is a place
where long drawn out thoughts
may amuse strangers as they
ask, what lies do I tell
as well as any fool?
Jokers. Can't take a joke, wanna take a poke,
knock this chip
from my pseudo-frontal-cortex module?
Jan 11, 2021
Jan 11, 2021 at 4:11 PM UTC
Today he loves me,
Tomorrow he fights, but still it takes me to decide the right.
Today he argues, the next hour he laughs,
And still I wonder how he changes so fast.
Like a module his temper is small,
But he would make sure, he remembers them all.
And sometimes, someday when I explode,
I don’t know how he has it all under control.
At eight he hugs me, at ten he stares,
At twelve he loves me, at three he glares.
And all I see when I look at him,
Is the time that changes along with him.
Oh dear lord.. Did you create him while eating a lime?
Why does his mind change along with time?
He tickles me at five, he is angry at seven,
Do I know exactly what’s he angry for then?
I try real hard to change with him,
It’s not so easy; it’s like bending a pin.
Now this was all the evening show, the night is left,
Oh god get the time slow.
At eight in the night he’s calm alright,
At ten he’s alarmed and sometimes he cries.
I look at him and think to myself,
Should I talk to him? Or leave a note on the shelf?
And when I decide what could be right,
He wipes his tears and suddenly smiles.
Oh dear lord.. Did you create him while eating a lime?
Why does his mind change along with time?
But even though his mind changes with time,
When I need him he is always my partner in crime.
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 5:27 AM UTC
Sounds techy.
Lock down.
Lock up.
Confined.
Calaboso.
Three hots and a cot..23 in
1 out.
Hilton or Ritz.
Just thinking bout
Going there straight gives me
The *****
Never been there.
Got no plans to go.
This four square life.
Is good practice though.
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 12:07 AM UTC
A trifecta of sounds
An ancient ocean
I don’t know who to speak to anymore,
but to a supposed internal being,
much more advanced,
or so I hope.
I long for days gone by and
for lemon trees in my backyard—
trees I never had while growing.
I feel.
I feel much too much, but there is
a beauty in the suffering,
a plain, openness that is inviting.
I speak to fill the spaces in my mind,
gaps which weathered time and
seashells.
Hope frantically obeys,
beckons at your call,
inches forward on a fast-moving planet
with glaciers and galaxies to call home.
Home…a funny concept.
We are all home here,
in this infinite cloth into which we are woven,
threads like stories and eras and creatures.
To blend in is a must, at first, at least.
I possess no hidden talents, yet many that they speak of.
My forehead tingles ever so casually, a signal
that I have tuned in at last.
They have been waiting for me, and I, them.
I pause, ever so delicately,
avoiding damage to the transmission.
I am loved, as are you, and
we are all sharing the same story.
Sometimes, moments of clarity
knock me off my feet,
and at other times I am drowning,
but I know how to swim.
I have been here before, as have you.
It’s so mysterious, and so big, and so…
Tenderness
Relaxation
and Forgiveness:
the key words of this lesson, this module.
I long for the space station I may have once belonged to.
There were more plants back then.
A messenger goes and snatches away
the last missing truth.
It is found in a peach pit, juicy and glistening.
The secret was inside of us all along.
The answers and the questions, too.
The balance was all there to begin with.
The truths, or truth, as we are not taught.
Two trillion years later, a blink of an eye,
if you can imagine it,
you are sitting in your aqua-garden
and floating water letters to the staff at sea—
the galactic sea, that is.
Suspended above asteroids and seaweed,
you cling to what you had lost many eons ago:
your humanity.
You have evolved into something greater,
but what you can recall of the collective human consciousness
is so stunningly beautiful,
that it temporarily blinds your inner eye.
Tears stream down your mental body.
It is so great to be here again,
connected to the past self who wrote you a letter.
An oasis awaits you.
Apr 22, 2019
Apr 22, 2019 at 1:06 PM UTC
Your
pathological
Lies
Will never lead
you to
the Truth
my friend
I say this because
I know
For many reasons
Impossible
Though my path
at the time..
was never that
Logical
For all I have
Is just a wandering Egø
but not many
PrOphETS to
find
So at best
I'm just a Prodigal Son
Who's on the
Run
Or just
An empty module
that's been
cast to the
Side
Therefore
now in which
was condemned and
condensed
Recompensed to
Repent
Fixed
In little pockets
of
Pride
So I guess that's why
I wear this fur coat
to favor me
Right?
Or so
it seems
Although it seems?
I don't believe in
Animal
Rights
Nah..
But that can't
be
Right
Maybe selfish
thinking?
Or maybe thinking
that it will keep me
nice and warm
Like
When the nights
are Cold
Or maybe if I pray
The light will lead
me to
his grace
I'm told
To many places
Untold
So I guess
I must check
or at least let
the man behind
the veil
Unfold
That which
I do not know
Or at least let
him place my soul
Placed
Back in the
mold
With no actions
or expressions like
a Mannequin
Then pray once again
on my knees and
believe
That he will one day
truly make me
into
A
Man
again
Sep 25, 2020
Sep 25, 2020 at 1:54 PM UTC
My car has got it’s brain back through
A trick automotive lobotomy hack
It was acting a little manic, the whacked
Human Machine Interface Module part
The screen was seen as a scary
Kerouac consciousness stream
An obscenity screed; a
Muddled fuddled car scene
HMIM installed anew—
Electroshock therapy
Zzzzzzhhhxt-phsssszzxt!
Initiating … initiating … initiating …
“Welcome!
Destination?”
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 12:03 AM UTC
A module once refrain
a verse that peers rehearse
if a sequence in cruise
when caucus fling feet
in a promontory abode
so precipice filters gold
where amass rhetoric
in an ounce of verbosity
as most food entail now
their resplendent attire too
then win it back tonight
and strep face no more
when weather is nice
with unspoken grace.
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 3:32 AM UTC