'The cross was not particularly heavy. Sacrifice seemed an inelegant equation. There was no algorithm for it so we left its hardwiring behind.'

Poem by Dana Smith

Our ghosts, our machines

Poem by Dana Smith

by Dana Smith 21st July 2023

The objective was programmed into the machine
without preferences: Cross, Skull Hill. Nails.
Gethsemane was a divergence under stars,
a tinge of unsmelt olive. The weeping friends
were surplus. The kiss, unfelt, barely fulfilled
its intended direction. The cross was not particularly
heavy. Sacrifice seemed an inelegant equation.

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