Well, I don’t know where most of these poems come from.
Maybe a few have been written by characters in a hypertext novel I wrote back in the nineties. The work looks archaic, but I’m grateful it’s preserved digitally in the National Library of Australia.
Silver and Rookie now live in a manga movie forest. Sometimes they take to sea in their Huon pine dinghy, tossed in pixels. Incarnating while they can. Silver does the images. Rookie the words. A great couple to outsource creation to.
But if you think these poems are more likely being dreamt up by a couple of old farts in a nook of their smoky Hebridean cottage then you could be right. Fictional fiction-makers are mutable.
Or in a C-Suite bathroom in a tower in LA or Shanghai. Relief from relieving the world of futurity.
From that early work…
‘If her eyes had been open she would have seen across to where the city rose like a phantasm of ice, its purple zomes and domes sparkling under the westering sun.’
Was that where’en we met, then?