The Computers

I feel the same with these computers
still around me.
Brooklyn, 2004.
Chicago, 2018.
They’re still here.
Not the same computers.
But their forms and
with similar feelings,
similar smells.
Electrons activated on air.
Petroleum exhaust from the street outside.
Somewhere in the labs,
wormholes ripped open
in our cosmic neighborhood.
But, the computers are still here
in their form and feelings.
I feel them, see them, know them, smell them.
They will be something different
at some point,
but for now they’re still here within
the concrete, steel, and glass buildings
of the city
and of the agencies,
where the computers train
and dream to be deoxyribonucleic acid.
I feel it.
I have seen it.

Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin

Love After Isolation

You live with it,
you sleep with it.
It’s your computer.

You take it to the shed,
there is wood and wood to chop,
your computer sits in front of
a can of turpentine.

The grass grows tall outside,
you are at a farm in Texas.

O Penthius!
Penth Fist!
our world is made of bone and air!

The sun shines in through the window
onto your computer.

– Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin

Memes Of The Basic

I am on a planet.

I eat the godbrains here.
And believe them.

You’re far across the Universe.

You know,
in a giant greenhouse somewhere,
on a different planet,
I am eating the godbrains.
Hiding in the back of a little shed,
tucked into a corner of the greenhouse.
There, I work on the computers,
the receptors and the generators,
the ones the agency transported there,
the Delacroix 5 and the Destructor 12.

The Destructor 12 was very important
in the run up to the end.
We’ve now gone shy on parts for it.

We’ll look for those parts past the dunes,
just where the grass stops growing
and the sand cliffs begin.
The sunset burns into the hues of
the horizon
on this planet
where the merchants sell
computers to make this stuff.