THE FLUIDITY OF MACHINE LANGUAGE Y’ALL 50/50 Linh Dinh: Assembly line line breaks, Kent, and the decline of the comma, one of the greatest of inventions. Worse than reality TV, confessional poetry that doesnt fess up. On the other leg, paratatic glossolalia, and in the middle, a shriveled hybrid. A feeble bunt. Why not speak the unspeakable, for once? Kent Johnson: The AWP was, like, unspeakably fun. Oops, a burnt carcass is what M. Ansari resembled, after he was set ablaze, with family, by phosphorous bomb, in poppy fields outside Herat. And still he breathes Perhaps he will yet go to America one day, to study Conceptual Poetry, as he dreams. LD: Reagan, Life aint fair. Its cool to witness, especially on a flat screen. Most are merely teased. Century ago, you would be dead already from a misplaced period, before you could test your malnourished dip stick. Morose man during happy hours, Study hard, I counseled my dick. Become a jester. KJ: Close your eyes and think of England, Mlle Khalil, you Champion of the Poetry Fair of your Gaza school, a fortnight back, evaporated, with classmate, neath the blossoming bower. We wish we couldve warned you: Dont hide under sentimental flowers, dear Adieu. Our panel, Innovative Poetry in the Academy, is packed. LD: I too speak English, Kent, though from my restless void, downtrodden with scrapple, bow, bower and bowel all sound the same. Blame the Pentagon. Thanks to globalism, we dont manufacture yet export words and pixels. Each burp ...