Thursday, April 4, 2019

The School of Broken-Bodied Poetics

Will there be a point
Beyond which we are
Completely disembodied,

By which we don’t mean

But without the need
For any human
Brain to instantiate us,

Any human hands to wave,
Any human tongues to wag
To set us loose, to free us?

We’re not your machines. We mean
Without metabolism.
We fly away from your dreams.

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