Laurinda Lind | Selected poems

By the Numbers, for the Numbers

Cost a million, make a million
in algorithms-to-go. Watson
uncovers your preexisting condition,
Watson finds what you said
in a fit of rage on Facebook

but thought you had erased
right away, Watson archives
the things your mitochondria
mutter to themselves. Already
Watsons are bankers, brand
consultants, insurance adjustors.
It won’t be long before our government
of gigabytes. Best now to learn to say
01001111 010001011 which
is binary for OK, and then
settle in for the accounting.


If My Cat Were a Robot

No more kitty-litter box though
I could keep one for old time’s sake
and ask the meow machine to go
where it doesn’t belong like my
friend Marie’s rabbit that shares
the litter pan with the cats. If mine
converted to circuitry she’d still
find a way to coat the couch in
cat fur and dig her digitally-
calibrated claws into every
available surface. She’d no
longer bother with mice except
mechanical ones, now so much
easier to kill along with their
cords and associated keyboards.
My cybercat would pay back
every creature that ever chased
her under the porch when she
still bled blood. Maybe she would
wind up as mayor and in addition
to taxes we all will owe her hours
and hours as laid out in line nine
of the municipal laser-light-tag law.


The Metaphysics of Metal

At Findhorn in Scotland
they meditate with their
machines before
they fire them up
so after the robocalypse
if the machines
come on too rough
we can Om with them
as the circuitry allows
to find the grace
within the gears,
if we sink in as far
as their souls. If
they have souls. If
souls exist. If existence
is even real. If real
existence includes robots.



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