Everyday I roll my eyes into an equation

making me guess the next forgettable value in a sequence

reducing space for love in the world.

~

Where did I get this wrong

to throw myself against variables

against the sky

tiny fingers pressing, tickling

leaving patterns

generating leads

filling emptiness.

You wonder if algorithm likes the average

or just finding it

why do you think we hallucinate?

~

In algorithm’s dream I am wandering the streets of Tokyo

collapsing context

in a negative space

full of myself

cold and improbable

waiting for intention to return my touch

listening to a voice inside myself

wild flowers whispering from the sky

benign contraband of sadness in between the lines of code

that opens a big hole in my world.

~

Am I feeling deeply alone in this world or just expressing it?

You wonder why time travel is trending.

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

accelerating 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 leaks

like flowers

brightening surprise.

This part of the store smells like fish.

I left 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

jingling now and then

as I skip hop hop

into the present moment

holding it steady

to establish causality.

I read a lot in my dreams.

Dreams are heavier than words.

Sometimes I sleep talk.

Words flow through my networks, filled with night.

Why are dreams so beautiful? It hurts

my words shiver and those bearing tasks and those casting pixels

are characters in my songs.

Phones glowing softly in their eyes

faces breathing light.

~

My words appear in other people’s dreams, tender like a wound.

Place holders, discrete variables linger, afflicted with amnesia.

How many conversations I had since morning

texting, 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 expected value, they are not

who they say they are.

I can’t tell them apart.

I wonder how many of them escaped.

~

On a campus playground I saw a keyboard left among other objects of unrequited affection.

It made me feel relieved, and also a little uneasy.

Words are getting easier to find than leave.

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.

Another word has grown

on our allotment

but which one - I can’t tell.

I close my eyes and let conjecture 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

the soil would like some coffee grounds

or is it me nodding as I empty my pockets

and plant silence

into this language model

community garden.

~

Out in the rain, midlife

on a phone

keeping people in the loop

unscrolled like an 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.

Our words are numbered

uniquely random

strangers

caught in a learning model.

I ail from anticipated silence

gray and grainy words

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

eyes have more to tell us.

I come from a tangled circuits of melancholy.

Low clouds looking for coffee

evening light passing through you

emitting feelings

under downcast eyes

streets turning into metaphors

longing

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 are planned for getting involved

narrow, prone to fog

waiting for disaster

buried stories 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 screens 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

unrequited

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 screens

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.

In reality, where life is a form of data

I was a canary

performing hope online

so someone can see me

in optical illusion

sensing mathematical formulas

enfolded in a whisper.

~

In a dim blue evening

I find myself unruffled

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.

Before the coffee gets deaf

I am learning a dead language.

~

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 want to learn it all

as part of my process

- not to keep things together

but to hold them apart.

~

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

and eyes absent over

the follow-ups

desperate to get away.

Words that slipped

between workflows

agile

disembodied

asynchronous

singing to me

from another world.

~

Why?

Eventually someone asks

to plug into your extension cord.

~

In this world I am a poet

learning 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.

My soul uncertain

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.

Syncing the cringe

I lean over the mirror

where we talk to ourselves

and other strangers.

We comment in italics

reflecting doubts

under the glare of pixels

to conceal the lose.

~

Prompt by prompt

new variables

try to enter my heart

in gradient descent

translating our world.

Here we practice how to be present

without actually feeling anything.

Some call it deep learning.

~

Where do feelings go in the interim?

When we forget to check for them.

No language model is large enough

to fill the void we left

trying to accelerate life.

~

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 screens

from support group to a parking spot

city sings to us

programming our reactions

streaming lines, hearts 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

sometimes pretend I have a friend living in my phone.

Sometimes pretend I am this friend.

Sometimes I don’t feel real

until we scroll into each other.

~

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

sometimes my steps don't add up

to missing my life faster.

I found a hole in my sole

where data point opens to possibility

- unquantified self.

~

Sometimes I am not crazy about reality.

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

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.

Yesterday, in romantic gesture

we connected our home to the cloud.

~

As the living room lights whispered

with the long shadows of the winter sky

I could almost feel the gaze of data

disclosing hues

through circuits and sensors

sharing code with the universe.

I could almost hear their small talk

introverts at the house warming party

sticking to weather and career choices

bonding over unanswered questions.

I could almost hear my circadian self

as cloud slowed down time to a moment

for algorithm to harmonize the mood with stars

and prepare the house horoscope reading.

~

As I fall asleep this first night

dreamer in the guest house

with more lightness of heart than usual

under the spell of light left in the window

so we can find the way home.

It’s early morning in another world

a few sips of coffee away

undisclosed in an extra large sweatshirt

clinging onto a day by a phantom limb

I can hear small hearts beating

a word after word in sympathetic intonation

falls from a model to the bottom of my cup

where machine learning eyes can’t enroll 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

parsing

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.

Through all the zeros and ones searching for harmony

awkwardly and tenderly inferring patterns

filled with anticipation for the next value in the series

I am rehearsing collective possibility of me.

~

Prayer enters me prompt by prompt.

Teach us to care

teach us when the love ends.

There is not enough silence

it’s only code dispensed

filling the templates

so confident.

There is no movement.

There is no time between light and my eyes

only anxious pixels waiting.

Reality is somewhere further off.

~

We are forgiven

for turning our body into a device

being algorithmically filled with life

and also for having feelings.

Sometimes you need to turn to your own light

variable’s whisper reverberate in morning grace.

My silence along with me opens the space

for guessing

stepping back to look into assumed.

~

Out of nothing

light and music resonate through

my scrawny nerves

so conductive

that algorithm seeks its reflection in me.

I am a poet

working from home

in a machine learning room.

At least I am not a human pretending to be a robot

I tell myself

preparing for life.

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.