Here's a poem I wrote the other day, enijoy!!


Cato and The Machine

I watched as she measured out Cato’s grave;
The mechanical feminine,
She cleaved open the ground,
She minced him up, she spat him in.

Had only his heart beat within a stronger chest,
Would it now be lying mangled?
In the ground to rest?

Could any man partake in such cruelty?
And why did the beautiful automaton,
With her skin shining of plasticity,
Choose such a fragile toy, to chew on?

But wasn’t Cato’s dream empty?
What joy? What intellect? What art?
Could he have seen, in her clockwork heart?

It was the imagination in a way;
A vast and tumult sea;
The rippling, the sway
Of thoughts stretching into that undulant infinity.

But she, that steely mechanism,
Didn’t care for the beauty of his dream,
A pebble cast into the endless schism,
Where the sky and the sea, meet their seam.

And so she consumed Cato;
She ate him up.
She castrated his dream.
She pulled apart, his still-beating heart,
And she turned his mind into steam.

These are the problems of simplicity;
It is made of steel,
It cannot feel,
And it can barely see.