If There Is A True

Lovemaking Seems All Too Absurd When Described.

Once Upon A Time ... The Only Autonomous Intelligences We Humans Knew Of Were Us Humans. We Thought Then That If Humankind Ever Devised Another Intelligence That It Would Be The Result Of A Huge Project ... A Great Mass Of Silicon And Ancient Transistors And Chips And Circuit Boards ... A Machine With Lots Of Networking Circuits, In Other Words, Aping-if You Will Pardon The Expression-the Human Brain In Form And Function. Of Course, Ais Did Not Evolve That Way. They Sort Of Slipped Into Existence When We Humans Were Looking The Other Way.

We Are Not The Only Avatars Of Humanity. Once Our Computing Machines Achieved Self-consciousness, They Became Part Of This Design.

Poetry Is Only Secondarily About Words. Primarily, It Is About Truth. I Dealt With The Ding An Sich, The Substance Behind The Shadow, Weaving Powerful Concepts, Similes, And Connections The Way An Engineer Would Raise A Skyscraper With The Whiskered-alloy Skeleton Being Constructed Long Before The Glass And Plastic And Chromaluminum Appears.

The Life Of A Poet Lies Not Merely In The Finite Language-dance Of Expression But In The Nearly Infinite Combinations Of Perception And Memory Combined With The Sensitivity To What Is Perceived And Remembered.