Wounded Horses

It is always the rider’s fault never the horse

War horse soldiers longer than some wars

Lonely is the head that shoulders command

As it ponders what to give what to demand

 

Shadows remain in the veteran’s mind

Cheap medicine to cure what left behind

Wounded warriors are like hobbled horses limping by

No use to anyone invisible to anyone who claim they tried

Head Spin

everyone changes everything everyday

everything changes everyone every way

the best laid plans make men into mice

everyday is a gamble a roll of dice

its called living and its called life

these ever changing plans we are forced to write

artists steal equally from misery and mirth

destiny oscillates in length and in girth

some days are sparkling wine and cheese

some days are begging her will you let me in please

every word I sit and type

brings me emotions raw or ripe

every now and then I wonder if at all

is there a plan big  or small

I give up then tired changing plans

some days I retreat some days advance

cool is the comfort of every moment in solitude

primal the emotion in the metaphorical sauna nude

so to begin every loss every win

everytime you make my head spin

But I am an algorithm

But I digress I confess I am an algorithm

Even though I mask my machine with a bit more rhythm

I analyze I seek I divide I conquer I remind

Even though the corpora is too sparse to find

—

Though the bagging and boosting are all you care to see

I must remind yall unsupervised learning did this to me

Gain and lift and entropy and sift and confidence on the curve

When the error matrix burnt you when you forgot to swerve

—

Extreme gradients need to neutralized

Extreme interests trump liabilities realized

Moderate honey pots and lithsome traps can be seen

If not deleted the logs show you where you have been

 

 

the end is nigh

the end is nigh but nero plays on

the red queen lost but the emperor finally won

the clarinet was bright but piano crushed them all

for hot is the summer but pretty is the fall

—

I am mixing up the tenses and I am mixing up my tapes

I am drawing in the curtains before setting fire to the drapes

I think I am seeing patterns but it may be shadows of packets gone

there may be roses in the garden but there is grass on the lawn

—

I am creating a new genre and it is tough to be humble while doing so

I am hitting all the highs but missing all the lows

Hacking and Hunting and Coding and Punting on

You are still digesting decrypting while I am long gone