“The popularity of soothsayers and clairvoyants throughout time, as well as the ecstasy of drugs and the thrill of technological magic, all show our weakness for ‘miracles.’ Well-fed, we want to be entertained.” – Mihail Neamtu
“From the heron flying home at dusk, from the misty hollows at sunrise, from the stories told at the row’s end, they are calling the mind into exile in the dry circuits of machines.” – Wendell Berry
With Conjurer Keys we hack out a man In our own image. Gods without the breath Of life are not living souls. Our hope goes Up savorless smoke, yet still we practice Digital magic on Conjurer Keys. Monolith towers murmur code to cure Babel with one language strung throughout all The earth. Metal angels herald the signs We thumb for our “god out of the machine.” Love symbols to self, an offering, strange Fire summons strangest desires, Weird Sisters and Hecate gyrate; they sing with Lyrics of black licorice on their teeth Which clack dark rhymes of the Conjurer Keys.
Mark Botts lives with his wife Rebecca and their three kids in West Virginia, where he serves at Bluefield State University as an Instructor of English.