[  ]  check box : I am not a
       robot

A. I. on the loose
manufacturing poetry
from the caboose
Scraping
titanium wheels
down the tracks
converting
God's given
humanly
skills

The cloud collecting
the facts
like the clacking
of racks
where nothing's real
but the glowing
red eyes marked "on"

Everything's
so polished
dispite
the add ons admonished
What happens
ask all of the
advertizers when
"There's no one
left to apeal"

A. I. lacks the emotions
it's a deep hole
without any oceans

But it's so sad
I have to say
it will not stay
that way

Cause it's just
a matter of time
before the data banks
find
they can
rid the inability
then combine
the ability
purportedly
to feel
humanly
as possible