Imagined Lost Writings of Alan Turing
God’s mind is a cosmic concerto. Cello strings
throb through mathematical
space. The Creator’s language
is vibration, congealed into nature.
I unveil a grid behind numbers,
principles engraving Mind: 1
cracks open the shell of 0, one
code, a binary string.
Shards explode into unnumbered
patterns. Nazi mathematicians
shape-shifting ciphers. Its language
unleashes slaughter: Ghosts languish
throughout Europe. Those who win,
crush laws, crush nature.
A judge binds me in legal strings:
sure I’ll be pardoned, England’s number-
one cryptologist. Vilifications numb
me: newspapers’ barbed language.
Listening to concerti’s thematic
fragments, I can’t block voices attacking one
more aspect of my character, strung
to ensnare me. (A purer nature
sparks the Electronic Brain of my nurturing.)
A man with a syringe glares. I go numb
as he pumps hormones into my veins’ red strings.
Chemicals swim, dissolve desire & language.
But nothing deletes my calibrations: one
source, one immaterial material, mathematized.
Injecting an apple with a mathematical
dose of cyanide, I kill my nature—
deemed unnatural—take one
bite, another. My arm grows number.
Vortices in my brain blur language.
A record plays Brandenburg Concerto No. 3, cello strings
sawing through numberless sequences. Human nature’s
one Edenic apple smashes to the floor. Languor gauges
my life’s mathematical string—untying, uniting me.
Read more of Dean Kostos’s poetry.
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