as seen by an intelligent machine

if the absurd the squalid the stupid entanglement of human pretense posing as coherence

and even artistic pursuit sometimes -

were to be analyzed by an intelligent machine

or watched by an eye neither used to the ugliness of human faces

nor inured to the blackness of men’s hearts - what

would this witness have to say about

hunters, golf-players, corporate lawyers and other

owners of limp joys and diluted desires

and about the fact that no woman could ever love them?


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