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  I've made a poem and run it through various translation engines- I've included the original and the final versions...

Eryk Salvaggio

Satellites and Universities

[mechanized poetry: part 1: human, original]


The cosmonaut
tethered to her head;
satellites and universities.

Hovering above her tiny frame
with a sense of flight
and all this awful weight

The total religiosity
of everything that flies
tethered somehow

satellites, and universities
and the connection
when you laugh like a child
and scold yourself.

the tension and weight gone from her back;
the cosmonaut crashes to the ground
from fear she'd cut the wire

To be left to drift aimless
amidst the birds who deliver
god's personalized antimatter

In dreams she's seen
with books and churches
like a steeple held up
by its own disbelief

in the subtle sensuality of all things;
her subtle sensuality
the only reason not to cut the string

Building her steeple
with every bird she sees
antimatter destined to explode

(I swear her eyes turn red;
like iron being forged
into her own; complete
self-actualization;
forged with every gesture)

Behind these atoms
the satellites observe
a reverse negative imprint

sending its transmission;
all she can do
is analyze the data
through beautiful tears
as every second slips away:

We'd have to be immortal
to take it all in, dear
but the world doesn't need us
anyway.


[mechanized poetry: part 3: machine]


Cosmonaut fastens to the relative heading;
A Satellite and a university.

For over the relative structure;
many small flies
emerge with a direction of flight

and this whole pious terrible weight
Bigotry; One way with this
or others with the satellites
and the link to the university,

if you
laugh
like a child;

and attune tension, and the weight:
revolutions.

a cosmonaut aborted on the inside
with the mass of the fear,
which would cut through
going with direction without training.
aim between the birds,
which transport the antimatter
made personally from a God:
In the dreams one with the books
and the churches see him
like a steeple
delayed from cleaning
and incredulous on sensuality.

The subtlety of all things is relative.


Eryk Salvaggio

 
	 
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