You live with it,
you sleep with it.
It’s your computer.
You take it to the shed,
there is wood and wood to chop,
your computer sits in front of
a can of turpentine.
The grass grows tall outside,
you are at a farm in Texas.
our world is made of bone and air!
The sun shines in through the window
onto your computer.
– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
I am on a planet.
I eat the godbrains here.
And believe them.
You’re far across the Universe.
in a giant greenhouse somewhere,
on a different planet,
I am eating the godbrains.
Hiding in the back of a little shed,
tucked into a corner of the greenhouse.
There, I work on the computers,
the receptors and the generators,
the ones the agency transported there,
the Delacroix 5 and the Destructor 12.
The Destructor 12 was very important
in the run up to the end.
We’ve now gone shy on parts for it.
We’ll look for those parts past the dunes,
just where the grass stops growing
and the sand cliffs begin.
The sunset burns into the hues of
on this planet
where the merchants sell
computers to make this stuff.