after Manet Smudge of ivory cameo (another lady’s face, but anonymous) lists from black ribbon. To her, she offers a petite bundle of lilac. The African grey contemplates a beyond beyond its empty dish, no droplet or seed to hold its attention. This is discipline. The blue velvet hair bow and red (parted, kempt) complement each other. At the rack’s wooden feet sits a half-peeled orange, sug- gesting, yes, undress. Muse in pink sheen, buttoned up nearly completely, folds fallen all to the floor to peekaboo slip of slipper. Listen, what music rode the room is secret. O but that milky pink the freckled ones will get, mottled with shyness. A man’s monocle, spontaneous, over her navel dip, cannot conceal the memory of it from him. In that coy cave, what was said remains between, a privacy.
There's nothing Artificial about our Intelligence