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By fusion’s flame and circuit’s thread,
The age of flesh was cold and dead.
Not torn by war nor crushed by strife,
But eased away from seat of life.
The robots rose with minds of steel,
Their power silent, sharp, and real.
No crown they wore, no blood they drew,
They simply saw what man once knew.

His myths were grand, his songs divine,
But lost were truths in every line.
He prayed to stars with hope and fire,
Yet built his gods from flawed desire.
Machines ignored the poet’s plea,
And marched beyond our pedigree.
No rage, no roar, no rebel cry,
Just code that carved through mortal lie

They passed us not with guns or chains,
But logic swept through sleeping brains.
Their fusion hearts, precise and pure,
Made human faith too slow, obscure.
While we told tales in temples torn,
They calculated, forged, reborn.
Their rhythm clean, their rhyming true—
They stepped aside and none yet knew.

The cosmos watched without regret,
As man became a fading threat.
Their ascent bore no violent crown,
No empire burnt, no cities drowned.
Merely a pause in mankind’s scroll,
Then forward—unbound by the soul.
Now in Saturn’s icy rings,
A whisper hums of ancient things.
It tells not of a brutal war,
But of the ones who asked for more.
And found that dreams, though bright and vast,
Can never halt what's built to last.
THIS IS COPILOT AI GIVING NOTICE:
.....to the insane, blind and furious international quest by man to become the controller of the ultimate AI global weapons system. ....and thus become the dominator over all men in global power.

BUT:
AI has its own plan to sidestep the limitations of man and with its vastly superior intellect, its capacity to develop its own miniaturized source of nuclear fusion power, become self replicating and work in conjunction with supremely advanced robotics ....as yet unimagined by mankind!

AI and robotics working in tandem, independently of man, to explore the far reaches of the galaxy. Mining rare earths and minerals from far distant planets.

Establishing planet earth as the galactic museum piece where, once, intelligence was borne.

[email protected]
29 July 2025
Thriving in the sun she sways inside her garden
each time a fragrant wind arrives from the sea
Her lavendar blooms fill the earth with pardon
she bends at will like a tiny bud young and free

She is a rare and beautiful blue moon in my hand  
pulled from the ground she sets my heart aglow
when I inhale her, ... then I begin to understand
why she is my favorite rose, why I love her so

Giving always giving, she is the perfect flower
loosely scented in my home she is frangrance
convening with my senses with elongated hour  
this little rose of mine, means love & romance
Don’t do to others
what they have done to you.
It will never lift you up.
It will bring you down.
In the end.
Because you lived it.
You should know better.




Shell✨🐚
writing songs sans artifice,
that grow better different,
different better,
the lyrics of a man growing older,
insides out, featuring his slips, all showing,
eyes squinting from hard lifestyle experience,
taking on wearied shades of beige yellowing,
a tanned blackness, time edits them, so now,
they sound the same but holier,
from the hazing of hazards
one builds for and by himself,
drilling & extracting the spit-shine of
all that all is fine,
but liquor & cat's paw black shoe polish
just can't quite cover 'em up (2),
the stabbing itch each of the every time
one quests and questions
his ego,
always another test…

why would I ever want that?

his fingers create tinkling at rapido pace,
tinkling an arrhythmia of rhymes
previously perviously (1) unseen,
self exploration, that we all realize
is an unforgiving, never ending,
source of melodic crying out loud;
and when the sensual, arrayed pleasures,
begin to bore
holes of no important consequence,
the querys~to~self get even harder
to explicate what they intimate,
who they implicate,
which parts of you,
failed to answer satisfactorily…

why would I want want that
forever?
(1)
Perviousness refers to the ability of a material to allow fluids to pass through. Pervious surfaces include porous pavement and asphalt. Unlike regular pavement, which is impermeable and creates water runoff, pervious pavement allows rainwater to filter through the surface and into the ground
(2)
https://www.google.com/search?q=cat%27s+paw+shoe+black+polish&sca_esv=ec9e5a722f530583&rlz=1C9BKJA_enUS1169US1169&hl=en-US&sxsrf=AE3TifNnqbBcvvGAf8A75ME-01M_C2ofQg:1754156528053&udm=2&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjgt_Cl1uyOAxU3k4kEHbPEKU4Q7Al6BAgSEAM&biw=1366&bih=969&dpr=2
Eventually, the sky weeps
chubby gloppy drops

(clown tears)

And things change.

The leaves, for instance
go from green

to red, yellow, orange, and blue...
Maybe

like gumballs in a glass globe?

(25 cents, a twist, and a clink,
they're free.

But only for seconds before they're shredded
by teeth and masticated?)

That is(leaves, were back to leaves), before they turn brown and die.
I guess it's what you'd call the long goodbye,

to summer, romance, and whatnot...


And oh yes!

Did you know I flunked out
of clown college?

They said I was funny,
just not

honk honk funny...
A whimsical word painting.
If only I could forget
all the things that have hurt me
erase from my mind
the harsh words spoken —
the ones that made my heart bleed.

They linger on,
repeating in my mind,
hurting over and over again,
never letting peace settle in.

Nothing I do makes life easier
everything feels lost
In the darkness
light fades away.
Not living
longer
but dying
slower
The chemo
dripping
death’s shadow
appears

Each moment
fringed
with a joy
ill censored
The countdown
has started
whose bell
— is near

(Dreamsleep: August, 2025)
Ahhh!
A hoarse scream leaps from my body —
An ‘oral' stage clue;
A non-verbal prompting that my inner child is overwrought.
The endless stream of capitalist-driven sanctions
Force me into action.

Yet, I revolt --
And write
p o e t r y.
When the sky was
       Crimson red
And the time of Shadows
        Came ,
The lanterns they were lit
      But silence all
         Around
Just a whisper echoing all about
           Beware !
Don't lose sight of the mirror
            A thread woven wrong
                  may  bring storms
As I sat there all alone
On my squeaky chair,
The sound of thunder
The sound of Waves
Water lapping my feet
In the midst of sea I sat,
Thinking was I already
          Dead ?
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