picking figs in the ˚̥̞̞̽̽ͯ garden while my world eats Itself (2015);

picking figs in the ˚̥̞̞̽̽ͯ garden while my world eats Itself is a curatorial poetry collaboration with a large number of algorithms, bots, generators, and code snippets. Using a shifting set of parameters to define possible poem shapes in a letter-as-atomic-particle ruleset, these programs dissect and reassemble language according to a set of meanings intrinsic to their existence.

Selected output from 2014/2015 has been collected into this chapbook, with accompanying illustrations machine generated for (and from) each poem.

It may be downloaded by any donation (including free) here.

A version of the drawing generator is visitable online.

The ABC Model of Flower Development when I was a child how badly I wanted those few flowers inundated. you and I, resolute sea. green stems over while I waterlooked like a city- one handfed plant watching for a lifeboat memory The coffee is polished by rain. by afternoon I reach New Shining where the unhappiness have their pictures with the sea the camera flashing in the curl i i am aware of at once both the sign of the streetlight and the sound of the crosswalk those attendant angels tearing. The light for better things.

A Bee orchid has clouds Some years ago I wandered there, painters of flowers pressed together, telling her in human time that the sky is wrong (and sooner or later you will be too). ~ in an inner room Salt is sprinkled in one's lifetime. dandelion and elder: the ancient sea water. In this system the heron-feed pool, Sometimes the laceration must be a feast. This ice. ice is made by crushing insects. This ice. red poppies are called in times of war. there is smoke to be seen rising from the warship, and colorful or scented flowers like roses. he landed and employed several gardeners. the outermost whorl on the receptacle consisted of rest, His numerous birch trees, ragweed and maples. swallow's structures attached to another century. The messenger, Lonely as a Cloud. The ice of indoor water enters Looking for nectar. Saltwater vectors, His Majesty was afraid to touch to his heart there. They feed the stray dogs full of waves and storms as Ice feels away for religion. still waiting for the ship of of certain corpses, lost in the great orchestral of things. in his inmost heart, his lovely spores develop into icebergs. Ah! Sun-Flower. exquisitely ultraviolet light. it is the river month of January When the flowers open, ending her.