What is it?
An affair between two voices.
A war between two body parts.
A battle between two conscious thoughts.

What is it?
For it does not breathe, yet it has a heart.
For it does not make sounds, but the drums hit hard.
For it is not holdable, yet it can easily break.

What is it?
It can not be traced.
It can not be mapped.
It can not be favorited, retweeted, or reblogged.

What is it?
It causes happiness, yet depression.
It causes warmth, yet bitter coldness.
It is a guiding light, yet a grim realization.

What is it? What could it be?

For researchers suggest...
It is love.

It is a dark, mysterious, risky, fragile, delicate, cliche, love between two people followed by an everlasting internal struggle.

It is love.
Love.

Taking stock of good ideas, tried and proven,
thinkable,
handible, holdable, ways and means to ends
The End
which means now, nearly, for me, part of me,
for the thymus gland, font of wiser than I imagined
T-cells, about which AI knows everything,
in the cloud of knowing witnesses now

encompassing us about---
so I need no wax pedantic,
tic asktask
AI ' f'
Art's intelligence, or-if-suf-ficial ficiency
--- stop-- think what is
enough.
the point to a life lived in focus, point by point, stretching
any point that may
be
stretchy, to its snapping point, and say

That only goes so far, re
mind me, next time I try to stretch such a point, re
mind me to only go
this far.

But, Hello World; Hello Poetry, is a place
where long drawn out thoughts
may amuse strangers as they
ask, what lies do I tell
as well as any fool?

Jokers. Can't take a joke, wanna take a poke,
knock this chip

from my pseudo-frontal-cortex module?