Monday, January 30, 2023

TURING TEST

Stop! What is the shape 
of pure, white 
expediency?

Light 
"on its way" 

from nowhere 
to everything? Or
God 

getting stumped
by a CAPTCHA 

before he's allowed 
to complete the next transfer?

"This could take 
forever," we 
mutter (although,

strictly, that's not possible),
as if time 
were our material 

and could thusly 
get corrupted;  

As if truth—
or whatever 

the light is, 
for that matter—

could ever 
be grasped. 
But not grasped 

like held-up
grasped 

like
interrupted.