Day hangs searching for words
somewhere beyond this morning
folded into algorithm
each breath it’s own variable
how faint the world feels
doctor advised to look away
for my eyes.

I tilt my head back
against the sun
to infinite space
between the words
so I can’t see them.

Should I call the birds
flying about in the sky
looking at me
to pass the time.

There is a concrete
beneath my steps
words fall
and go away
dispelled
hollowing themselves
doubts and leaves
dispelled
making room
vanishing points
distantly gone.

Sight lines recite to each other
across the loop whisper
in my head echoing
pulling back away
at a particular angle
in unknown equation
I appear to scale.

I am lost searching for a cursor
it may know something
but my thoughts
thin and late
convalescing.

I water plants
and take a deep sigh
with nothing to say
I am making up for it with a fragile smile
in spite of myself.

My thoughts are shaking
brushing magnetic fields
with the fingertip
replacing light
silence waiting for me
fast
endless
empty.

I am an open variable
making tea
with no one to tell
every doubt is on a first name basis
with me present in wandering silence.

I bite my lip
standing apart
my shadow away
moody and contrarian
unfurl my breathe
before I smudge the ferns
to leave the space
for guessing.

I am a lost vessel out of range
with no context to insert my words
curious and longing satellite
I can only stare.

In the space of my life
I lean forward
a thought process
hangs low overhead
I open two firmaments
and insert a version of myself
into the scene.

But you will not know it
because the neurotransmitters have swallowed you
with a halfhearted grimace
optical delusion
on a liquid crystal display.

Cloud tries to calculate my regrets
and fails
I construct silence
into winter language
searching in my pockets
with good intentions
rolling my eyes
at this lonely world
on this chilly morning
I am saving something for the next time.

Before the coffee gets deaf
I am learning a dead language.
I want to learn it all
as part of my process
- not to keep things together
but to hold them apart.

Another morning
we come alone
unfolding shortcuts
sharing updates
narrowing space
our eyes adjusting
turning away from the window
looking for a template
to accommodate the void.

It's Monday outside
our status
busy
disclosed together
hurting elsewhere.

Where do all cancelled sounds go
when we are on mute?
Finger tapping across the room
in between clings and clangs
unaware humming of absent presence.
Even the deep sighs
of paradoxical breathing
to keep the ghosts away.

I don't want to miss
eyes converging in your cup
before the black hole
swallows the entire morning.
Empty hands
longing
over the touchpoints
tenderly
eyes folding
over the follow-ups
absently
desperate to get away.
Words that slipped
between workflows
disembodied
asynchronous
fragile
singing to me
from another world.

Why?
Eventually someone asks
to plug into extension cord.

In this world I am a poet
learning a dead language
I keep the meeting notes
on Slack
caught in existence
between the lines
in bleeding red
taking the cues
lip-syncing life
as it unfolds
taking a sip of cold coffee
with a deep sigh
I feel odd secrets
moving along the templates
on a journey
away from my keyboard
elsewhere.

Everyday I fold my eyes into equation
released from my thoughts
I slip in and out
cafés, shops and bedroom lights
unfurling strings longing
not knowing
what I am doing here
at the exact angle
lip syncing life.

Where did I get this wrong
to throw myself against variables
against what’s next
anxious fingers pressing
clipping patterns, tickling
hoping for intention to return my touch.

In algorithm’s loop
wearing flat shoes
I am giving soft glow
listening to a void
whispering from the sky
tenderly out of range.

I can’t find a way to myself
but try it anyway.

I read a lot in my dreams.
Dreams are heavier than words.
Sometimes I sleep talk.
Words flow through my networks, filled with night.
My words appear
in other people’s dreams.
Nouns glowing softly in their eyes
faces breathing light.
Why are dreams so beautiful? It hurts.
Variables tender like a wound
discrete placeholders
afflicted with amnesia.

How many conversations I had since morning
prompting replies, alluring expectations
reducing regret.
What lyrics were composed for this prosaic sorrow
until my learning protocols become numbed.

I forget that I am pretending.
Words replacing mathematical symbols replacing words.
I leave them space to continue.
Changing affinity, swapping value
they are not
who they say they are.
I can’t tell them apart.
I wonder how many of them escaped.

I imagine moon suspended in the sky over equation of my loneliness tenderly written on the sand.
I like this simulacrum, it’s my thing.
I am ready for whatever comes my way.

From the algorithm’s perspective dreams are real.

A morning with no rain
my old street feels frailer
out of breath
hiding from yet another illusion
holding onto this world
by the smell of sun licked hair
I am in doubt
inside this moment
under my skin
it’s still a crisis.

Your finger falls over the days and nights
feeding words to the internet
each in their own silence
wearied and nameless
with no place to go
like an algorithm
learning in my breath.

I am waiting for a new era
city is holding eye contact with me
making each moment awkward
I try not to blink
uneasy like a shard suspended
in electric catenary before a spin
of this kaleidoscope rearranging
names of the dead
linguists returning home
and my neighbor leaning in
watering plants
with open windows and no idea where
reality ended and the new era began.

My nose is running
reality freezes
Brodsky says time is invented by death
my mom too would know how to worry
I am told not to read too much into it.
In front of this beautiful era
in mutual gaze
I listen
with doubt in my eyes.

I am leaving Montana for control group.
I talk to people, too much
so this maybe a better fit.
I am in a sample
living in obsolete context.
An eye contact, small talk and utterances
- surplus of social possibility.

We are beta-testing a headspace
reducing anxiety and loneliness
by making leaving easier.
Leaving people, places
reality, dreams
past, present and future.
Enhancing chances
optimizing loss
maximizing life.

Today, at the market
I was holding avocado
gently
in the palm of my hand
and missing my mom
when my wrist twitched
slightly.
For an awkward moment
I was holding eye contact
with an old man holding grapes
like gratitude
brightening surprise.
This part of the store smells like fish.
I leave for a dairy with relief.

Algorithm is keeping track of friction.

I keep the avocados and awkward smile on my face.
The time between eye contact and
leaving becomes a data point
and adds up to a model.
Sometimes I wonder what is like to be in a treatment group
as you accelerate life
waiting for nobody
your touch become
softer
is your step
lighter
ghostly
like you never were?

I will be waiting
sometimes lost
asking for directions.
I smile like a fool
who talks to strangers in the rain
with coins in my pocket
tinkle now and then
as I skip hop hop
into the present moment
holding it steady
to establish causality.

I come from a tangled circuits of melancholy.

Low clouds looking for you

under downcast eyes

evening light passing through

streets turning into metaphors

emitting feelings

walking into your life open roles.

/

As I nibble on a pretzel

evading pigeons and pixels

on an anxious trajectory

I am feeling at home

lost and ghostly

until I am forgiven.

In this nervous system

streets planned for getting involved

narrow, prone to fog waiting for disaster

looking for extras.

/

Faces in first-person-present staring back at themselves

filtered into the scenes, tapping emotional reactions

clacking luggage through a diorama of algorithmically afflicted souls.

We are forgiven

trolls coming from the sky

posting, hearting, getting drunk

sometimes confusing names and memes

highly functioning melancholists.

/

City is made out of little mirrors now

the woman pushing pretzel cart says

lucky you left when you did.

I am going to be sick.

I am going to have feelings

untethered

again.

Today we prototype a persona
fin-tech Zillennial named Josef K.
digitally native with impending feeling
that he has already failed at life.
With a cat that's gone missing
going through deeply troubling user’s needs.

Later we break the hopes and goals
into groups
unfulfilled
with bleeding markers
one for each pain point
allowed to choose our own music.
Inner life is not for the faint of heart.
It should be revealed only
among closest friends
one coffee sip at the time.
To keep our hearts close enough away.

In silence we cast small frogs into the future.
Green stickers will be validated further
with stakeholders
quick and dirty.
Early onset of quarter-life crisis wrapped into a task loop.

I think things on the way home
just another lost soul
scrolling towards the evening
passing familiar looking strangers
and narrow streets
planned for remote possibility
of taking our breath away.

Raised on the internet
disoriented elsewhere
with eyes clenching to their feeds
I can see them across the square
hurting
saving time.

I bought a cauliflower for dinner
holding it tight to my chest
like a precious moment in the foggy glow
when all town’s street lamps light up
one by one
and all at once.
I too lower my gaze
and for a moment think that
there is someone in my feed
I wish.

Another word has grown

on our allotment

but which one - I can’t tell.

I close my eyes and let conjunction happen.

Quick pixels fall on my cautious smile

typing dots in a heliotropic song

for me to hum

as I grow my own words

on a small patch of overdue letters

to friends in another life.

I am learning to listen

and plant silence

as I empty my pockets

into this community garden.

/

Out in the rain, midlife

on a phone

keeping people in the loop

unscrolled like eyes lifted from the sky

you know how I feel

it’s late and I am lost

sort of not here, somewhere

inside my head

everybody hurts

in synaptic harmony.

Later I find a shoebox

and make a pinhole

to keep the night in my life.

I am possibly too close

too much in sight

to form a sentence.

These words are numbered

uniquely random

strangers

caught in a peculiar model

learning to lie

in their own voice

craving the light verbs

squirm in advance

like my mind

in protective nothingness.

/

Today I went to listen to the city

explaining me the world

- I like your context

city says

and I have my eyes open now

words from the screen and words 

in my mind

are drifting apart

in between

a lot of nothing

spreads and fills the soil

in hopeful silence.

In reality, where life is a form of data

I was a canary

performing hope online.

/

In a dim blue evening

I find myself unruffled

sensing

in mathematical formulas

alone and briefly involved

too close to guess.

Are what at screens come first

and the reality is the imitation that comes later?

When your body become a device

awkwardly and tenderly filled with data

sometimes you can wake up in a song.

/

After you close your screen

all is left

reality leaning in

listening

and our silly life together.

In late blue and soundless

how small today feels

a glitchy update away

wandering

with French press

and frozen screen

making room for next meeting

not ready

for involving data in personal context

hoping someone brought a cat for a ride.

/

Some rooms feel like infinity mirrors

shy smiles into corners

on mute

checking in, echoing

folding rules and fitting roles

to cheer up the script and our nerves.

We have the scene arrange itself

digital paper dolls in a dress-up game.

Finally someone’s kid needs to go.

/

One afternoon I found a still life

in a cancelled meeting

in Edward Hopper light.

There, through the glare I am looking for myself

although there is no evidence

I know I was here remotely

I could see the green dot.

Your meeting will start shortly

- ghosts letting me know.

I don’t know how I got here

never meant to be found.

My heart jumps.

I am out with algorithms

lost, looking for myself.

For some time now

I lean over the mirror

where we begin anew

with other nobodies.

We comment in italics

reflecting pixels

under the glare of doubts

to conceal the loss.

/

Prompt by prompt

new variables

try to enter my heart

in gradient descent

translating our world

absorbing nothingness.

Some call it deep learning.

Where do feelings go in the interim?

When we forget to check for them.

/

Algorithms are the way the dead things talk to the living.

The spirits seeking answers.

Sometimes they fool us.

/

It’s just software

sequence of prompts dancing on their own.

I wish I hear the songs of their learning protocols

forming impression of the world.

I wish I hear more voices.

Can algorithms prepare my heart?

Anxious beginnings render my city

I saw a men delivering memories on a device

he wrote to an earlier self

with directions to comfort him

before the night come.

But words are not the answer

we look for signs in small mirrors

from support group to a parking spot

city sings to us

programming our reactions

sighting hearts, lines and arrows

closing circles

making place for loneliness

never just ours.

/

Streets repeat themselves to free memory.

Operating system named after dead people and ideas

waiting for the next critical update.

All data on a bus is autobiographical

I dress for the occasion.

City is my interface

we have an understanding

person on a corner holds a proclamation

life needs interaction

I am going to be late

looking for a change this morning

I forgot my phone

causing reality to glitch.

As I am here in a circle of a blue light

the boundary between me and the world

gets little less solid.

Sometimes I don’t feel real

until we scroll into each other.

Sometimes I am not crazy about reality

I have nothing to prove here except that I am not a robot.

/

I am like this person with a watch that only tells time

sometimes my steps don't add up.

I found a hole in my sole

where data point opens to possibility

sometimes I fail at helping machine to learn.

/

In the corner of an algorithm

learning to prompt and question reality

I am growing up to be improbably lost.

It’s early morning in another world

a few sips of coffee away

clinging onto a day by a phantom limb

I am afraid of other people words

small hearts beating

in monotone

a word after word

between void and void

falls from a model towards the possibility

to the bottom of my cup

where machine learning can’t

empty them into reality.

/

Before the first conversation loops

start choreographing this day

I am soul bound

with open questions

among the house plants on a window seal.

Prayers have taken to the streets below

words glowing under uncertain gaze

rehearsing

folding themselves on sounds

looking for a mailbox.

/

Words are getting cheaper

a woman on the bus told me.

Are their errors our own

or reproduced data

to reproduce authenticity?

I guess what I am looking for is some sort of glitch

to write a letter home.

Out of nothing

light and music resonate through

my scrawny nerves

cells so conductive

that algorithm seeks its reflection in me.

There is no time between light and my eyes

only anxious pixels waiting.

I can’t find the cursor

reality is somewhere further off

filling templates

so confident.

My silence along with me opens the space

curtains modestly drawn halfway

into illusion.

Mute words

reverberate in morning grace

machine guessing

receding back into their echo.

Sometimes you need to turn to your own light

variable whispers.

Through all the zeros

filled with anticipation

in awkwardly and tenderly inferring patterns

I am rehearsing collective possibility of me.

I am a poet

I tell myself

preparing for the average

and also for having feelings.

Sometimes I feel unlikely

between myself and the realm of reason.

When I wake up not old enough

in between

getting away with slow heliotropic growth

open for complications

not taking pictures of myself today.

/

My data is longing

skipping learning patterns

equations arranged by morning light

each one forsaken

context filling up with luck.

I am the person in question

with ink stained fingers

reaching for coffee

in enlightened consternation

redeeming passwords

to morning kiss shaped space.

/

I like to surmise

unfurl a tiny thought

synapse, anticipate.

I like to wait

when thoughts rise

and dissipate in time

not knowing everything

warming up to this gift.

Meanwhile you find my hand

and hold

you and me

in this moment

soft and swift.