Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, May 12, 2013 Under: Poetry

Magnetism’s stay-home-Mom infects plexiglass
dancing lucid in lieu of the Lucy Liu’s,
the Jolies, Monroes, the Metallic Monegasques
behind the laboratory window, cyborg marriages ensue
body parts, accessories, “meet other people”

On the billboards, sugar foam accumulates
energizes, wherein strands of readability take form
sifting like cells through hearts and minds,
through exterior and extracurricular obliques
to reach targets of feel good, and stay pleased
Just say please…
The left region of the brain that functions as an outfield…
knocks pterodactyls out of orbit for being primitive-minded
having the common courtesy to revive them
in a pool that’s compatible to their habitat
although, no intention to release them back to their own
assuring those of us that the jurassic is now
the schematic

There’s smart dust on the mantle
There’s RFID chips smoldering in the fireplace
fletchers, guilders, blacksmiths, lumberjacks
are being replaced now by armies of Tin Can Jim Cramers
Uranium is seated upright [legs still 3D printing]
but the process is much like baking layer cake
with sterilized pincers, supercomputer jaws
meticulous fiber optic ripplesmear
megalith in the length of nanometers
positronic decagon dragons, [a microwaveable item]
“an age in which the transmittance of good ideas
depends on organic beings to coerce and think together
can’t depend on machines
to provide purpose for their natural function,”
says the Blackout Brigade, currently garrisoned in a Samoa
that no longer breathes

We take the same path of unconscious antics
as floating orbs in the North Atlantic,
where the portraits fashioned tend to be overly complex
humans are created in the image of tampered-with-humans,
Bionic Manhood Programs sprouting from the hearth
out of identities, a trans-humanist cause plays out
people say “oh, you missed the train”
“my dear, if you missed the latest robotic soul installment…”
“you were behind the times! An intern of the cloth
too busy for the lithographical Codeword Projects
battling the fumes of naivety
to come to terms with an odd world
a glittering, fleshy enterprise much like
Cybertron with a skin rash
and a forgotten birth certificate

In : Poetry 

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