He strains to hear the anthem of the year:
Machines dictating lyrics to machines,
Constructing hooks and bridges that adhere
To code, the unencrypted subroutines
Of neural niches, every line designed
For inoffensive, omnipresent play.
The auditory landscape can't unwind
Its tangled, plotted mass; the great array
Envelops and invades to inundate
Receptors cells; the mess of music plays
In streams direct to spiral organs, straight
To eyes, pretending to be songs. For days,
His lyric hagiography's the same,
A one-hit wonder's effort near his name.
2 comments:
Wowers. This leaves me rather breathless as he begins to flesh out and tower over this hapless, riveted little reader, glued to the screen, devouring greedily and drinking in thirstily every succeeding feature.
The images and imagery effectively set him on display as a mere gadget parading as next to or better than the original that painstakingly created him and presents him to the waiting world in something like plastic triumph. Don't offer him a light or he may melt though, circuitry and all, with a tremendous fizzle.
Impressive and fascinating.
Let's see were you trying a Shakespeare move with the double usage of "machines" in L2?
I'm thinking you employed not only beautiful internal rhyming, but also consonance and assonance delightfully.
Ah, a pleasure to read and a poor critique. One of these days I hope I'll learn; until then, please bear with me and cut me some slack?
Aye, machines machines was intended to follow Shakespeare, poorly I might add; there's no modification in the word to hook the brain, just a modification insofar as the first is subject and the last is object.
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