Salim, Salim,
what does it all mean-
with your polish parsers
and polish stacks-
what's a poet to make of that?
And yet, and yet,
there must be some sense
in colourised discs
and parallelism-
but by AI, it's hard to envision.
I confess to fascinated revulsion,
when confronted with arithmetic propulsion:
I fear the abyss of senility,
considering contextual ability
and the horror of contemplating
those colourised discs rotating
is quite beyond my comprehension
and tourmaline's too wierd to mention.
But still, but still-
some germ in such words
inspires poems
polysyllabic
and surreal landscapes panoramic.
