Size / / /

The microcomputers producing my tints

are here to provide you, the viewer,

with a whole new interactive experience.

My voice recognition units

enable me to eavesdrop on your critique

and make whatever changes are called for.

Even if you don't know about art

but know what you like,

you can become an equal participant, or more,

in the process.

Think of me as your humble servant,

think of shoemaker's elves,

scurrying about to do his bidding even in the dark,

always true to the Platonic ideal

he dreams of while they work.

Perhaps you thought of microcomputers

as only making their contributions

in places such as the wings of aircraft,

reshaping them in the sky

to adjust to conditions.

Now, however, we can help

the imagination to also take flight.

What's more, we have been able to combine

the functions of creator and critic

into one, much richer, experience.

Even as you move on to the next work,

notice how the changes begin to fill

the corners of you eyes.

Is that your signature starting to form?

As with all the works in this gallery,

the original artist is unknown,

though we like to think of him

not as lost but as part of the foundation:

think of that painter

as simply painted over.




Duane Ackerson's poetry has appeared in Rolling Stone, Yankee, Prairie Schooner, The Magazine of Speculative Poetry, Cloudbank, alba, Starline, Dreams & Nightmares, and several hundred other places. He has won two Rhysling awards and a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts. He lives in Salem, Oregon. You can find more of his work in our archives.
Current Issue
10 Nov 2025

We deposit the hip shards in the tin can my mother reserves for these incidents. It is a recycled red bean paste can. If you lean in and sniff, you can still smell the red bean paste. There is a larger tomato sauce can for larger bones. That can has been around longer and the tomato sauce smell has washed out. I have considered buying my mother a special bone bag, a medical-grade one lined with regrowth powder to speed up the regeneration process, but I know it would likely sit, unused, in the bottom drawer of her nightstand where she keeps all the gifts she receives and promptly forgets.
A cat prancing across the solar system / re-arranging
I reach out and feel the matte plastic clasp. I unlatch it, push open the lid and sit up, looking around.
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