In my mind I’m in a granite tower, fog and raindrops,
lichen and moss. The sea above its maritime level
is scattered and forgetful, tiny fish have fins
for swimming and for flight.

I chose a basement cavern and pretense,
Martyrdom Lite without a flower,
I curled up on the runway where
interstellar flights were landing
and bathed in temporal trickles,
lacking seriousness and gravitation,
factualising while my compass spun.

The planet’s hold had waned,
Newton’s fruit was drifting to the West
and ripening, yet I remained
while those around me rose.

When I was immobile, nothing could ever stop me,
but now my nosebleed and I
walk the trail of night to morning.

Like the shedding city eucalypts that line our path,
my travelling companion rarely speaks.

Always so dramatic. In the kookaburra milieu
the loudest calls are best,
but you are not a kookaburra.

Our transit steers us past a queue
around the block, where android faces speak in silence
of the void in the awaiting furnace.
All will be remelted, cast to decorative trinkets.

It’s been decreed—a purge of all unnature,
google logic and its robotic embodiments,
science bleached to white.

Door by door they came and tested—a simple questionnaire.
I scored zero, every answer wrong,
human beyond a doubt.

I breathe and breathe
again, hear my blood, its music,
my mechanical weakness in the remnants
of our mathematics.

The only thing worse than logic is faulty logic; spelling is optional for non-existent words.

the sorrow of androids

23 thoughts on “discordia

    • Thanks Daniel. I’m truly flattered by your mention of PKD, he’s one of my scifi heroes. 🙂 I haven’t considered a series with either poetry or short fiction but I can see value in it. Lately I’m hand to mouth with writing, and painfully aware of (non-writing) deadlines. It’s feedback like yours that gives me the enthusiasm to keep going, so thanks again.

    • Here the kookas are very noisy in the morning, and through the day they perch on the clothesline looking for worms in the grass. Hope your doggie is a bit quieter. 🙂

  1. I try and understand but it’s only in not understanding that I do. Science bleached to white. Newton’s fruit was drifting to the west. Exquisite. The colors in the artwork drink me in. And there’s those flying fish again…

    • Glad you like, BG. The fish are a bit of an obsession, and I should probably see someone about that. 🙂 Sky fish appear in several of the stories I’ve sold to publishers as well as in manuscripts. The editors probably say “Oh no, here’s Simpson and more of his flipping sky fish.” 😀

    • Being a bit tangential and avoiding facts (as usual), I sometimes wonder how our minds work, that memories of friends can fade but leave a single sharp cameo: just a moment in a scene of life, a phrase, something they said. Somehow our monkeys-in-a-tree minds make a selection. Glad the piece resonates with you. 🙂

  2. Newton’s ripening fruit was marvelous. I pictured a fat, juicy apple, slowly and perfectly level, drifting through the sky as it reddened.
    I watched a series that featured the harvest of skyfish for use in manufacturing skycraft.

    • Glad you enjoyed Khepri , also ❗❓ I’m guessing anime. I know humans can fly, I’ve visited airports, and rainbow trout with hang gliders aren’t too hard to imagine. Mmm, now I’m picturing a flight of fish with little harnesses pulling a coach through the clouds. 🙂

    • Thanks for your generous words and for letting me know, I appreciate it. I will continue if I can. Time and life are uncertain and mysterious, but who wants to be bored? 🙂

Leave a Reply