Forget flying cars and trips to stars and moons beyond the belt,
Please settle, yawn, put the kettle on,
and weigh the cards you’re dealt.
Dismiss the dreams of thought machines we’d agreed would exist,
Don’t wonder why no weak AI is rolling in our midst,
With lights and sounds splayed all around, with lasers piercing mist,
The present time does dreams defy, some targets must be missed.
The same focus saving man is killing me.
The efficiency and industry
That puts families on Venus,
Refuses to grant me just one little thing.
There’s never enough spare momentsin the day,
Stimulants and schedulers maximize activity,
With every hour billable,
Or mapped out,
Or mandated somehow,
And sure, the latest most creative tales entertain our rests,
But I don’t want to dream
A new studio’s remake
Of an old studio’s remake,
Without knowing the original.
I’ve tried to make time, will it, force it,
I carry it to work, and steal glances:
Frames here, seconds there,
Minutes if I sneak off at festival.
I’m nearly through Birdman,
And I want to see how it ends before I die,
Or before another retelling,
Or revisiting of the story,
Is all everyone can dream about.
I’ve never been so angry,
That we learned to work so well together.
I’ve never seen the Pacific…
I was in town there once, just near it,
With you back East,
But never walked the last few miles to the shore.
Then tonight when you called from your hotel room
Windows facing west, your afternoon sun not set,
Glancing blinding light into your camera sharply,
But softly reflecting from the sea to your glowing face,
I saw what I was missing all along.
A poem is a riddle and I am its Sphinx,
Unless someone else wrote the poem you are thinking of—
in which case my nose is intact and my paws are remarkably homonoid.
A poem is a griddle, and you are its links,
Unless you aren’t reading the poem—
in which case you’re probably not some sort of meat wrapped in skin either.
You might be a river.
Or a creek. Or an ocean. Or a stream.
Or a great flood that covers all the land despite all the rainbows.
Maybe that’s why people approach you in pairs.
Some of the little boys pretend to be Achilles,
Dipped upside down by their mothers,
Screaming that they’re drowning,
In unheelthy invincibility.
While some of the little girls,
Can’t let go of being Elsa,
Closed off and locked away
From the terrors of friendship.
But all the children on the schoolyard,
Take turns being Spider-Man,
Amazing and sobbing
Over Uncle Ben on the sidewalk.
Surrounded by the other kids
Who pretend to capture the moment
On invisible phones
Not thinking to call for help.
We’ve walked toward the sunrise,
Not quite at sunrise,
And away from sunset,
Making camp before sunset,
As long as the eldest remember.
And as quick as everyone can go,
All together, with what we can carry,
We’ve always kept going,
Over little waters
And around larger ones,
But all the arounds now
Just jut into more water,
And the meals are moving
Against the sunrise
And the sunset
And someone needs to tell the elders
That the gods must have drowned
But the next ones will be better.
Is computing just a punk rock show:
Noise and distraction are the attraction,
And you want to disrupt that?
Spring has more petals than an auto show,
It’s designs accelerating, while innovations grow,
Each year a revolution, a new release in turn,
An industry in bloom, while those clapped indoors all yearn
For a sky without limit