A virus eating itself (a poem)

Saturday, February 8, 2025

A third person in the room,
on the other end—
three’s company,
the odd interplay of machines,
learning at the hands of human exchanges.

That education of regimen,
hardline, economic engineering,
a clever use of parameters,
an altered modality,
overriding any other sense of morality.

All hail the coin,
the computers,
so we can go frack the moon.

Amoral—
can’t anthropomorphize,
you’re talking to a species
that loves the idol.

The brain to get,
and to secure—
the survival instinct unchecked,
still running mad with war.

The implements,
the pointy end, the stick—
us four no more.
Back.
I’m sorry, we can’t help you.

Twisted ideas of pure,
stepped over the poor,
which happens to now be all of you—
an entire species,
flipped out,
enslaved by want.

A virus
eating itself.

The ouroboros,
the circular reasoning,
the echo chambers,
the class station,
and our tea parties,
rejecting the king’s taxonomy.

A frozen time loop,
stuttering,
glitched out—
the LLM is thinking,
so I can go find a bathroom.

Neo, wake up.
White rabbits,
Alice and chasing—
into the hole,
an upside down,
to unravel
whatever we were sure of before.

On Recursion and Collapse

This one carries an admittedly dystopian vibe, but it’s not just about the external world—it’s about what lingers inside. A feeling that inhabits, a connection to the broken. The way history loops, the way systems devour, the way survival turns desperate.