silhouette

silhuette



            *

He who peels the curtain, confronts the light
on bare skin, he who transitions at each step
through the dark page, there to encompass him,
he who leads the way with courage
one grasp at a time,
he who lays his inner eye
on the quivering prize.

He who has outgrown his mother tongue
speaks of tomorrow,
poses a gap we face to answer.



            *

She walks funny in high heels,
both a bun and a bow,
she wears a short winter coat dress,
pins a purse under her elbow,
and she is so proud to be adult
it's adorable.

The shadows lengthen by the power line poles,
she walks home and pays no heed
to the welcoming of the feline creature,
her thoughts drawn to the drawing class
and the dreams that beckon
under her elbow.

gift-wrapped

      gift-wrapped


Worlds on hold in a gmail folder
Which way will this one tip the balance
A few words in a draft
none in another
A book on the shelf that wasn't to be there
balancing in isolation
How to fall into a world that is falling

the meadow of seasons (by GPT-2)

Prompt:


The sun-drenched days
sing securely unattached
fiorituras of white and violet,
the timbres for the bees.
The bokeh of the meadow
invites unreservedly
to join its standing overture.
At an orchard's fence
the velvety beeswax scent
paints the swaying grass.
Under the grass curtain
in the warbling of the wildflowers,
words scurry for closure.

---
"the warbling of the wildflowers" phrase by GPT-2



      the meadow of seasons


Toward me the meadow's delicate song
is whispered,
a spidered little dewdrop in the blue.


The vase bursts from the ground
and the bees lift it
for a darting flight.
With the insects,
not fluttering like bats,
they dance on the bulb
of the cherry.
They laugh
in the summer shadow
and in the winter snarl
like a mule in the yard.


The grazing hill
blooms amidst dahlias in a tango of heat.
Yet nestled there among the dahlias,
back on the meadow, amongst the ivy and myrtle
and the pale, sunshine,
the songs come easy, the shade is gracious.


Sail away! bethink you.
The porch of our garden
bristles on the gales
of autumn.


The geranium-bark vine
shepherd to the meadow's center
in its perennial shifting
caterpillar walk.
The golden eagle glides
In slow circle above the neck
Of the reed before us.
Beyond him the future quietness
can still continue to perfect and quiet
in the infinite richness
of the eternally undulating transcend.

---

by GPT-2, https://talktotransformer.com/

? shore sick

      shore sick


There she blows in the monotonous wave.
A longing guides the beach weather to fall
onto drizzly dunes backed by a shy horizon.
The gadabout meandering scrubby tufts of grass
as she floats afar a bathe a bathe --

? Disguise

      Disguise


To appreciate the perfection
of the extreme points of the envelope,
of a reversible transfer of the equilibrium,
of an unrolling brachistochrone.
The tangent language of the proprioceptive.
To hide under the ideal
of the homomorphism across spaces.

The ideal attracts: the strength supporting
the reliable geodesic. To be that someone
is a joy of following the unique smile,
the unique slide, the extended palm,
the establishing presence, the felt sense of now.
Being overwhelmed, overwhelming the accidental river
of spikes and gnarled boughs with that stirring joy,
and so flows smoothly the heart.

Don the disguise of flesh, wear it so eloquently
it becomes a song, a monument -- the pentatope.
Flow with the embeddings and diffeomorphisms
until you discover yourself the disguise
gone with the river.

[lone galaxy]

      ***


The expanding universe
and the unwinding time.

The people of a trillion years hence
in the lone galaxy
will study the infinite layers,
uncover the pottery of stone and metal
and ancient carbon fibers.

The people of a trillion years hence
will rediscover
the fractal multiverse.

They will discover
that most universes are young
that statistically
their life is just a poem
and the possibilities are endless.

The old woman's eye
recognizes a sparkle
in a battered girl --
the friend of the dragons she knows yet not.

In the old man's furrowed face
a glimpse of a gifted boy's magic
and the long process of boring through
his shadow's bitter disenchantment.

These will echo in the simulations,
in the stories as deep as life.

? visit to a grocery

   visit to a grocery


We strolled through a grocery.
In a warmly lit aisle, brown bread
crouched on a lower shelf.
In another, cottage cheese
interrogated by the cold.
In the clearing of the fruit stand
a kid on a photo safari.
Shopping trolleys backing up,
circumventing at the cereals.
We broke some bread, for the cheese,
and for the picture.