the cannon has no knowledge of weighted mass arrows in flight soar unaware of precise fletching turbines cease to contemplate the harness of kinetics but propulsion has a knowing thumb and tools of precision have origins of acceleration spinning blades of mechanical fury fledge by man’s design what is often material knows not of its maker and maybe to its benefit for knowing strikes a match against the purpose and purpose pleads with death for one more gasp to cower idly between darling and danger water soluble, sinking its large angelic cuspid fangs the marks bleed, ooze, propagate harden, repulsing the disorder fashioning new epidermis, absorbing contagions a new generation of conscious unconsciousness man, machine machine…man soulless mechanisms by misguided masters animating dead weight, neural networks void of feeling silicon codes and wilted indifference for a momentary courtship with one’s transient status status that thousands of years will omit in the wake of human error at a bold cost to humanity the mind learns it still knows so little shamefully enough to endanger its purpose maybe man was already machine, soluble, withered, engineered resumed He too a once unaware thing, fashioned by the external world Toeing the threshold of inevitable decay depersonalizing, starving, future automated biological algorithms face to face with prophecy