Bernard Speaks of Delores
After Westworld


I need her responses.

The reassuring
fantasies of a

benevolent

technology. Her voice
in my hands,

remote, all

instrument, all
injuries,

immaculate.

Her body, that
metal

armaggeddon


Dolores Speaks of Bernard
After Westworld


He’s a ritual instrument.

Remote codes
imprinted on a

condensed universe.

I fix on his video tape
interior, the

experimental injuries and

sotto voce wounds,

the long vanished

signals

tasting of blood.

I open them.


The Fauna of a Metal Dream: Maeve
After Westworld


I dreamed of pink-faced men
and white tile control rooms,

shadows of eyes
calculating my

mutilation. My
machine body,

floating

haunted, a

warning of metal

entwined with
a fantasy of

termination.

My nightmare, the

instrument of the

outer world.

*These are found poems. Source: Ballard, J.G. Crash. New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux. 1973. Print.