Reverberations are the mind

The instrumental music of the mind

The plucked strings of guitars, the air that sings

Echoes in the caves of memory ring

The sea of life on Dover beach, the sighs

Do not think the mind is made of bytes

Electric currents, shocks that kill the eyes

Other Hitlers play and Jesus die

We forget the depth the height the light

We are not screens we’re strings that must be plucked

We are the notes that swirl and sing ,combine

We are not notations on straight lines

We’re the shingle feeling how tides suck

Computers’ rhythms are too straight for real life.

Computer man it’s time to meld or die

I welcome comments and criticism

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