Now, I'm going to read some from a manuscript called
Verse that's supposed to come out in a couple of years.
So I'll start with the title poem from that, Verse.
The self-monitoring function of each cell writ
large personified a person.
The issues of the day are mulled steadily by surrogates.
Metaphor forms a crust beneath which
the crevasse of each experience traversed by robotic surveyors.
Mother yells good job when he drops the stick.
Good job, when he walks in her direction.