He uses his post-post-modern perspective
to deconstruct the new aesthetic. It’s no longer
about gender; it’s about synapses. Her emotions
are binary, randomly generated. He lights her heart
afire with disposable flame. Ablaze, she lifts
her arms and twirls like a figure skater. The ashes 
shape themselves into an egg. All his friends 
are virtual. These lines cast off in multiple, nested 
dimensions. Black holes are not the only voracious 
things in this universe. Parentage becomes obscure. 
What is eaten changes places with that which eats. 
Look into the whale’s eye. Each day she becomes 
a new thing, resurrected from dead stars. His edges 
are amorphous. All boundaries are permeable. E
approximates MC². Motionless, we move. It all 
depends on where you stand. Stand somewhere.

UPDATED: This poem was inspired, I think, by The New Aesthetic Needs to Get Weirder, by Ian Bogost.