Type
Poetry
Category
Poetry

Out of time

You can’t ask a replica of a replica
to get in the wrongness, to rise up.
I’ve stuck my head in the algorithm
unable to find an exit.
Look, I’m in the network until it rights itself,
I have body armour and a weapon.
The day is warming
: plume             baton             tear gas.
Ahead of me a bot runs through coin slots
of wrecked light, senseless with fright.

 

 

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Angela Gardner practices as a poet and a visual artist and is currently Australian Poetry’s Cafe Poet in Residence at GOMA.

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