I desire only your fantasies,
your rigorous, Cartesian geometries that build toward something
less impressively free,
and a little more obsessively beautiful.
A little more unusually usual.
A set and Venn diagram
drawn around every single one of my possible intentions,
quarters, eighths and most of all
base-sixteenths, defined
at length in creolistic calculus,
codified
by no one.
If ChatGPT gets at it, there goes all the fun
and power of outwitting the neo-coloniser who might one
day seek to use Them against us.
Don't understand the fuss?
Notionally, what I notate
about my own language sometimes comes
back to take pictures of my body automatically;
sometimes, of course, it looks back
and diagnoses me as sexy
and filled with the rare-earth kind of Kristang love
but other times,
the algorithm plays games with your lines.
The backend tedium starts to become
a very hard sell.
Even when I use stripHTML
I can't get things back to the way they were:
someone else's problem,
someone else's scalar coordinates.
Someone else,
always trying to ruthlessly out-manuever and overmeasure
the precise final terminal infinities of the sun.
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