impersonal poem which began being
about my cell phone...
a simple walk with open eyes and the device that sends
chinese corporations all my personal data
my personal data is huge, expanding all the time
my personal data is conflation, inflation, apnea, all at once. my personal data is a blue algea pharmaceutical concern belching covid variants and bootleg bloodstreams. my data convolution programs spam snails for boring parameters and we consider ship-worms a possible anti-colonialist anti-slavery strategy of an ally or an alloy gripped by diamond sutra white dwarves emitting teslic or testical coils.
blessings pour down ripples of accidentally surreal raincoats
part of my personal data is dedicated to the insane art of never repeating oneself, itself
and therefore watching everything slowly at the accelerating rate of mindfulness.
thank you thich nhat hanh for reminding me
by dying at 95 today
reminding how scattered dying might be, how integral
i walk the line within these words with open eyes, unblinded by death, depth
in minneapolis or some city up there where
davu seru's ancients wound up
thich nhat hanh went on the walking meditation
the I who am nobody do daily
thanks to him or whoever blessed these feet
and the car stopped thich nhat hanh
and the voice said, this is not china!
forced to agree, he walked on
Jan.22.22, Poznan
2 comments:
What the data don't do is don the dress of the so well express'd. The rest does like you, taking you to be you. We thank you.
& Thank you for the spin on the story that keeps the verse "down to earth" -- not pinned there, but aware, on the fulcrum, the leap into the daily unknown.
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