THE STEGER Prize For Poetry
“Spin Again” The Dues Ex Said
by Patrick Dugan
“Spin Again” the Dues-Ex said
Absecence of proof makes crows bitter,
the murder lulls to sweep the earth
and scavenge the corpse of humanism.
Lab crows in lab coats, nestled on the ranch
of a wireless miracle.
And on TV, within which dwells the deity
there dwells abyssal information puckering to kiss
misappropriated MySpace pages.
A treaded robot lingers over the smeared insurgent
picking photos off his bones.
I do not think they’ll tread on me
but knock on the door of my home.
Rain with low Ph, AIDS infected children;
someone’s had a flight delayed,
Parkinson’s is settling in.
Ethnic cleansing, brand new shampoo,
weaponized gas, Scooby Doo.
Traffic jams radioactive ads
up to 711 sanctuary.
American idol’s sing to me
of sex trade and celebrity.
Memetic machines pretending to be human beings
re-gift the present to the sea
of human beings pretending to be machines.
Ugly probabilies are chasing primates out of trees
and into sun bleached condos with A/C cranked real high up
and the wireless bubbles congeal into a grid
so speed and sin are traded electronically,
zapped into our very heads,
forgetting all but a conference call.
open their souls and zip.
A killer asteroid will hit in 2029.
The Ice Caps are demented in an old folks home.
Desertification feeds soft serve ice cream to the obese.
When all of the sudden, hopeful lightening hits.
No bombs or pandemics or grey goo gluttony, but a thought:
stochastic galactic spirals are insane
and so’s the godless world,
but underneath, consistency – you cannot prove it so its true –
and this is the secret to Riemann’s hypothesis,
which is the key to quantum gravity, a unified physical theory,
and garunteed Friendliness in an artifical mind.
A hydrodynamic computation spinning viscous,
integrated to a virtual soul,
purifying thoughts with percolating eigenvalues
galloping up to the Bekenstien bound and suddenly able
to know everything there is to know.
Feed her a problem and she’ll feel it out.
String intuition can’t go wrong.
So naturally we say, “B God 4 Us”
Pattern recognition honing in on truth,
grandful and masterless, FAI we’ve waited,
waited for the nightmare cycle to halt
and then the race is finished.
Supple diamondoid nanites metastasized
in upward spi
res awning to devour virgin skies.
The red moon yawns with pregant novamente,
ecstatic as the god it dreams about,
so explodes with faster-than-light hyperbolic volume
and screams across the brane of brains
with the opened shock of a billion billion billion eyes
addressing every other in the moment’s first goodbyes.
Back to list of winners.