AI tech era—
Engineers clambering to
deprecate themselves.
//
Billboards peek from snow,
promising the future, now—
Yet progress, glacial.
//
My pocket is filled
with Einstein, Hawking, and Tao;
My purse is empty.
The zombie wakes
Begrudgingly leaving its bed
Bindings falling away
Dirt seeping from his eyes
As he recaptures the art
Of setting one bony foot after the other
Stumbling past the doorway with a groan
Down into the catacombs
Where lies his Treasure
The Elixir in the Holy Grail
His bare minimum consciousness
Delivers him to unto the sealed shelf
And he rips open the jail of his Ambrosia
A juxtaposition against the tenderness
With which he cradles the Vessel of Life
And brings it to his lustful lips
That craving
And finally I awaken
To that first drop of vanilla Colombian cold brew on my tongue
Tech craze,
Zuck pays.
New space,
house Hayes.
Buy vase,
few Ks.
Partays,
loud bass.
Work days,
bus chase.
Delays,
long face.
Thick haze,
cold Mays.
Years’ daze,
fast pace.
Lone gaze,
sad phase.
“Need praise,”
shrink says.
Replace
old ways.
Mom stays,
embrace.
Her Grace,
allays.
Her love,
always.
The doctor,
the entrepreneur,
the engineer,
and the ghost
sit in a rented red Fiat
endlessly driving
from Nice
to the winding bends
of the Alps.
Cheap Thrills
from cheap speakers
echoes in the crisp mountain air,
but our ears register only
the sound of youthful invincibility
and infinite potential.
Every year
I find myself pulled back
into that tiny car in my memory
and I think,
It must have been a hot summer,
because the snow melted
and formed this tear in my eye.
I followed every coefficient
backpropagated every label
but for all the good
of ten million data points
and a thousand machines I taught
to learn how humans
“behave”
I myself
never learned
why she changed her mind
about her love for me
on the coldest sunny day
that summer in Portugal