Network of Things

Rolled out like new thunder, 
A gleaming commentary on escape,
And redemption,
Listing hard and threatening,

It moves on, searching for the world’s edge,
Cutting new taxiways for sentient weapons,
New paths for the fallen to take to salvation,
Through the babbling mines,

The nets made of light and wire,
Surrounding the old flesh and blood,
The obsolete stuff, sensitive to ambience,
To drowning in its own solvent,

It’s a calling, an occupying of time,
A reward for automating death,
With sensors and robotics,
The stereo camera that clocks movement,

The heat-seeker of soft bodies,
All children of the dead-eyed inventor,
Maker of the shining, sterile beams,
Which cross the world with no intent,

But the defined instructions of paper-tape,
Binary-coded words without nuance or regret,
Their sealed orders are assayed,
Machined to the edge of visibility,

And they error,
Fail unsafe,
In the not found,
Always break bad,
But see no fault,
No funerals,
In crushed buildings,
The soft things,
They know, 
Not as makers,
But as targets,
As real as steel,
And Concrete,
War is peace
With machines,
We are collateral.

National Poetry Day 2013