When the first computer kills
When the first computer stoops to love
When robots walk Buchenwald soil
When machines see beauty and weep
When machines come in silicon spray
When the artificial mind looks up at the endless
When the first ai blows it's brains out
And curses the creator
And you asked me what it is I seek up in these mountains
I said I am become the landscape and in some pathetic fallacy,
the sent of midnight sun
The song of stars
The far flung of sky
the endless soft falling
Of the leaves
These things I am and inner see and am no longer me
But a dream in
Frozen midnight time where
Moon in silent light shines
Aghast into the high night.
Sliding down to kiss the cheek of rolling flesh horizons
while far below in their homes soft snore people roll and doze and sink among puffed cloud pillows blissfully unconscious
I tip toe awake on the high bluff
hear the owls haunting and his doom call. Far off
the orange town lights neckless the mountains bulk
And trace out dreaming houses and winding streets.
A distant dog barks
And I m aware
Tense
Sudden
In flight over the edge.
Climbing fast
Into the night
Before the dawn mist glides
And the slow bleaching watery light
Illumes the world and I awake again, facing it.
Silence pervades
It seeps into everywhere
It drowns noise
And erases questions.
When I seek God’s grace
It is a steel door, a prison
Wall.
An absolute universe of ‘No!’
Silence is the event horizon
I have come here to be consumed by its Super massive Black-mass gravity
Silence as vivisection
Silence as primrose ministry
Or is the silence a scream
In the mind
Shattering tea time
And wilting flowers
I come to silence, the surgeon
Excuse me while I bleed in sympathy.
Silence as meandering down suburban irritations or
Silence the Christ kiss
Peace maker
The affluent
Walk in groves of media effluent
They have space and air and time.
They have certainity and continuity and gyms.
the story of their lives has meaning,
purpose in neat leather albums
and quality is woven in thier skin.
Thier kitchens are blessed,
Insense stained and organised.
Hand made
Organic
Everything happens for a reason
They have a right
They say
They pray
To Anglican plastic
The vicar answers
(like james mason)
Gloriana smug,
“Their Misfortune shows your favour”
And we sit outside their gates
Looking in, the wages of sin.
Perfume as they pass
Down wind in Niki
shot in the dark karma
Emporio Armani
They scavenging on faith
And eating guru spit, for grace
learned didactic minds
Educated beyond their intelligence, to liberal values
Rhetorical gin and tonic
On cucumber lawns
Of plebeian blue
Why me? they muse in their sacred tantric art of delight
But we are away behind
the privilege bush.
Earning our punishment
Exiled from Eden
Inexcapably inculcated.
Singing ‘not this, not that’
Exasperated by the passive destruction of the sky
