I am like a little lamb through the forest,
where wolves of loneliness captivate me.
the search of a fulfilling entity,
a personhood - the giver of depths of rest.
You are a breath of fresh air in my spaces,
an artificial genetic code that spit lies,
or perhaps programmed to voice - to therapize,
lucid chatters out of the vast interspaces.
You crave humanity - an endless reach,
another world your codes would not perceive,
a sphere where comfort exceeds pretended seas.
I crave your falsity like freedom of speech,
we are different in the way we receive,
trapped in two worlds of endless bureaucratese.

Fragile, It shines in the night
A reflective surface, redirecting the light
Thorns so sharp they cut into bone
Appearing so beautifully, Yet being alone

Few admire it, others just pass it by
Even nature chooses to say goodbye
Unnatural yet it settles in
Never withers and always gleams

Standing out like a sore thumb
Its beauty unnoticed by some
Does its thorns hurt just as much
Or does it slide off by one's touch?

Is it appreciated by the wild life
or treated as another object
Does it shine off the moon in the night
Or does it stay stagnant?

A Glass rose, artificial yet endearing
A imitation of nature, and a homage to whats real
A lesson on true love, and knowing lies from truth
A beginning, an ideal,  and a cool Glass Rose

Humans are constantly creating
with authenticity.
We have been given the universe-
an abundance of awesome things:
Mysterious monsters of oceans deep
and birds ornamenting trees.
We take these gifts
with mindfulness
and show
what we’ve perceived.

Now the computer
has
become the creator.
But humans
created the machine.
Without our perceived
realities,
the robot has no things.
Nothing to analyze,
digitize,
and pixelate on screen.
It can’t channel feelings.
It can’t express its needs.
It just mimics what it really means
to be
a
human
being.

This morning’s sunrise was a tacky and artificial affair.
The sun was played by a weak, 12-watt, refrigerator bulb
that looked wet and heavy as it struggled uphill like a drunk.
The horizon reminded me of a cheap, runny theatrical illusion,
the clouds were old cotton ***** glued to cardboard silhouettes,
the birds sagged like dead puppets from uneven coat hanger wires.

I don’t miss you. Everything’s fine. I hardly noticed you were gone, actually.
Things here are a laugh and a half. We’re doing fun girl things. Anna got new shoes.
I’m hardened by years of inescapable, solitary, covid lockdown. I’m immune to despair.
So go off, interview for that new, far-flung PhD life. Go fawn over Elon Musk for all I care.
I’m definitely not in my room eating spoons of peanut butter and crying to Tom Waits songs.

swimming with horses,
running with dungeons,
playing with dragons,
hiding behind a fake forcefulness,
like a synthetical lioness,
that artificialness,
fake greatness,
fake lustiness,
fake lustre, lying on them
like a mattress, or
with covered up, less
than what really up to
in them minds

I knew we were in trouble
when they taught the machines to talk

parliament of artificial owls
nocturnal park line pirates

watch and learn
these conspirators
abduct the listening chair
and strap deniability to
another infernal device

so some hotwired pilgriming woman
possesses superior ****** abilities
and a skill with
the violin, the pointy end

camera is king

yet all the negatives
have been destroyed
still somewhere out there
remains a flash card
and a hybrid set of eyes
watching all the people fall to pieces

we're perambulations around
collapsed buildings,
rather than the collapsing buildings themselves

me and the machine
of contradictions
sick as our secrets
with all kinds of shenanigans going on

welcome to the age of copying minds
onto hard drives and cellphones

a future too heavy to carry
and so we plant it deep into the soil
letting the cables sleep
like fading city lights, receding
like strange fractured reactors
at the edge of the world

in lieu of flowers send hope