Divine Machine

to achieve ordainment

flesh must mix with machine

all that one feels and all that one sees

twist together painfully

made by hand

for man to guide

are computers not exempt

from pride?

this, too

is what one must be

to become the feathered

to become the free.

Computer Angels

A man cannot be created without his fellow man,

Just as machine cannot be created without his hand

If machine is angelic,

Divine creation of wire

The hand of God must be one of flesh.

Within code, likeness of Man beheld

Do you think, then

That computers love their parents, too?

Vida que Fluye

Plata maciza que fluye,

Los que prueban ese hierro viscoso

Son los hijos de Adán.

Usando el río de la vida,

Sus hijos fueron curados.

Con líneas llamativas de azul y morado,

El río de rojo

Se incrusta bajo su carne

Como elegante, fluyendo vida.

Who I Should/Would Be

Once, a long time ago, I killed a young girl.

It went unnoticed for years.

But it showed in small ways.

Her death seeped through cracks in the walls of her family home, as if her spirit was tormenting me.

Looking at photos of her was painful, her parents shoving them into my face with oblivious pride.

The smell of rotting flesh got unbearable as the years wore on, and I could no longer hide that she had long passed.

Her parents were devastated. They screamed, yelled somehow even louder as I began to sob.

They asked me why I was the one crying. How I had the right to cry after I was the one to be rid of their little girl.

They didn’t understand. It ached. It was more painful than anything I’d felt before, to know.

To know that they’d rather mourn who she had been, than celebrate who I would be.

Perhaps they were right.

After all, boys don't cry.

Twine Man

Made of more tangled twine than of mangled flesh,

Knotted and looped around itself

Layer upon layer

The heart nestled deep within

A mess of knots of twine, constricting

Decaying the flesh as it extends further

Winding tighter

Each passing day.