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Sentenced to Sentience
*Sonnet for Kubrick
In the sing-song dream of a cash machine
and a typewriter’s lukewarm steel return
several shining gentlemen will earn
symbols to face their love in evening green.
As pulp sheets unfold from the Pleistocene
elsewhere, the vertebrate at her lectern
praises the features of a certain fern,
opposing columns in a magazine.
Untethered from the cleat of our own selves,
we gave the task to a handful of chips.
Silicon, now mined, will be the one delves
into that which we spat from salted lips —
the lone spaceman cleaning a ship so spare,
tessellation of a bone in the air.
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