(Caused by Sylvia Plath’s “Fever 103°”)
Rupture with gentility.
Hell is here now,
Licking at the future, dull, intricate,
Wheezing about every unthought.
The computers. The computers.
The indelible brain.
Stop moving under carbon.
The high smoke tolls.
Almost familiar?— from Nietzche’s tongue
The eternal return.
Waterwheel trundles by torrents of kisses and love,
The weak, the lechers
All drink the same water that cools the robots’ lectures.
Fuse blubber and data.
Find the unthought!
I am purified by resting underneath man.
Not men the things, but man himself.
There, I am the world.
Exchanging glances at the sun
Like the fleeting senses that make up everything.
If I could reverse gaze
I would burn it all.
Save the tinder cries of virgins
And that yellow sullen smoke
Would perfume the space around all matter,
Without skin and meat, it costs nothing.
But, that place is the same
Don’t you see!
A growing huge white camellia.
Antithesis of alloy
And pure acetylene.
Attended by something
More than wetware.
To Paradise is roaming around neath
The trees, the hues, the thoughts, the covers
Not with dancing by programmed cherubim.
“Owl’s talons clenched” your unthinking heart
You then boastfully put your head
In the oven.
Coby Hobbs is an Audere contributor and editor.