The mimic men make statements

You might see a robot going through a series of events

Stressing out the fruits as they ripen
which helps the sugars become more concentrated, not the nutrients but the sugars, gently yield together

the drenched feathers of a flock of, no a herd of... have you heard of

the lacto-fermented tears of the black man

They got all the relevant knowledge from just them

And, yes, the machine was understanding

The machine understood me as it manufactured

Dystopian themes and the cyborg hustle and good machine poetry and the low-key brutality of video hopefuls and wannabes, in honor of--

We used to be a merciful people/ we used to be a humane people

Reincarnation is real.

It's nice to slow down in the middle of a baton crumbling around the dream like lightening, and let it strike like police at the peaceful gathering because then at least someone screams and

then for the space of that evening you have completely broken out of the ranks of your family, which veers off into the void, while you yourself, firm as canbe, black with your sharpness of outline, slapping the back off your thighs, rise to your true stature. All this is intensified still further if at so late an hour of evening you look up a lover to see how he is doing