automatic poetry

On the right of the double pipes <||> is the poem "Hands" by Micheal Chitwood. First I translated the poem into Galician [read it here]. Then I passed it through google translate about a dozen times, crossing Spanish, French, Romanian, Catalan, and English. I like the way this process introduces mutations in the poem:

HANDS  || HANDS

wine || have worked

embrace || into the gloves'
glove. || snug fit.

Nice touch, || Good grip,
dark. || it's dark.

is difficult || It's hard
breathe. || to breathe.

Take the initiative. || Let go.
Feel the walls || Feel the walls

blindness || for blindness
is another way of seeing || is a form of sight.