Luis Morales-Navarro (莫路) is a writer/coder interested in natural language processing, computational literature, networked physical computing, poetry and speculative fiction. Currently he is a Resident Research Fellow at New York University Shanghai.
Nongfu Spring
Clusters of dust blossom with the winter
In my body there are kegs of Chinese beer
I inhale blue-white air
Walls drip sweat and all I want is water
The bottle a place in darkness
The forest trail
The wide bridge flowing with the currents
and the end of wilderness,
craving juices, gazing at plums that quench thirst
Springs melted from snow and ice on top of the
mountain converge underground,
moving along holes and cracks in the basalt
There are many aged boats
The spring adjusts the seasons with the wind of her soul
It dissolves silicon dioxide in surrounding rocks to form
silicate-type mineral water with low sodium
from beneath the volcanic basalt surface
purified through the rock stratum before gushing out from below
suitable for long term consumption
Clouds poured into her mouth
become words walking her gardens
Two drops on a leave laugh as if sharing an inside joke
all this came to pass with us
money plants creep in through the water
Unintelligible characters swim
Flowers are born, beautiful people surrounded by water
I ask Feng Xiaoyang about the Nongfu Spring
He says it doesn’t exist
~
Cuaderno Verde
for Claudia Mejía
Demonstrate your understanding in 511
a conversation with Borges
a petition from an old severe peasant
—after surfing for three years— in Nanjing
the emperor receives the patriarch of Hindustan
these happenings and these beings are momentaneous
their mansions raided corporal punishment
too feeble to talk playing decent go pre-dream
brought to the house confiscated poetry
on the road in particular, the datalogs
flake across the desk if one person committed a crime
revise the law if the household had seniors or children
—full of nihilism— the Bodhidharma:
I don’t know who I am. who is it?
three pounds of lino. the letter kills.
~
Wéixīn Man
I dreamed I was a profile. When I woke up I ignored
if I had a dream where I was a profile or
if I was a profile dreaming of being me
It all started when we looked at each other
with a special tactile chemistry
When the world crashes on my hand
other people and I are of the same womb
made me what I am
we are just good friends
I’m a wéixīn man
And we are still good friends
software for the purpose of finding you
wéixīn man with character amnesia
use it only as a backup
that its sorry was dancing
I close my eyes and there you are
When my hand laughs
I’m a wéixīn man, and I’m gonna say
You know the way it is
watching every glyph
content not for sale
“At thirty a man stands”
giving the right to use his content
with no fees or charges payable to him by them
export it everywhere in the world
Another wéixīn man
By its grace i am new man
And my song is filled with joy
Of its image I am a reflection
“At forty a man is no longer puzzled”
under rocks and a thousand places
in order to comply with applicable laws or regulations
his data may have already been disclosed
pack it in a crate and ship it off
because autocomplete software
A gust rises I’m a wéixīn man
With predictive text from the 1950s conquering my words
But we are still friends. The software studies my habits
And my answer sounds like me with character amnesia
like me at my most generic