Isn’t it weird that we know the least about ourselves? As a species, we have conquered nations and created thousands of societies paired with complex languages. Yet, scientists still work to figure out the very thing that sits in all of our skulls. The brain. Where does every thought come from?
This morning I listened to an interview
with poet Ada Limón. She spoke about
epiphanies and didactic endings
and how sometimes a poet must surrender
to the discomfort of unknowing.
How sometimes it is best to listen
to the world’s echoing heartbeat
PART I: AI is created
I think God made you and me out of binary code You call me an enigma,
But I do not speak your language. You would be the 1’s.
Always at the top
Perfect Aryan halo on your head I would be the 0’s.
(1) every puzzle has an empty space, and a piece that never seems to fit
on the train in november I found
a duality called us (antithesis as mirror) sorry it is colder here than I remembered
and I am tired
of being called a dreamer
Are these the pangs of birth or the aftershocks of death?
What awaits me beyond this shore?
And even now when legs and feet have failed me
The sand shows trails, like serpents, of this fragility
I bleed: the gravel grinds my skin and ﬂesh