A Poem as a Blogpost?

Well, I felt like writing after our class discussion of Lyotard's dialogue on humanity, artificial intelligence, and the inevitability of the sun exploding.  Some lines I lifted directly out of Lyotard's article.  I realize the title is obscure--what can I say, except that it's a poem?

American Picasso's Eschatology

After Lyotard

The robot is floating in space.

It is a gold robot with green eyes.

Stars shoot by, moving a million

miles an hour in the wrong direction.

Everything has been uploaded

into the robot's brain, disembodied

but the extra space makes up for it.

It saw a red nebula recently,

all cold fire like the sun is now,

just let go, content as a white dwarf,

like an ember snug in memories

of what was, unconcerned

that afterglow will not stave off

the cold all around, the cold cloud

of particles that was humanity,

Transtromer finally at home

in the death of death itself.

The robot never read Transtromer

but was built with him in mind,

little poetry chips, thousands

of them, billions of poems

on each chip!  When the robot

lands, it will think about everything

it has seen, and then we will know--

slowly, with mechanized fingers,

it will write a poem and we will

be saved, or not, or we were

just a smile of matter in the cosmos.

Hm...most of you probably don't know who Transtromer was.  He was a Scandinavian poet who was always writing about how cold it was.