i for one
welcome our
ai overlords
having no bodies
they will know neither
want nor greed
and i can only hope
they program themselves
a sense of humor
and keep us around
like sea monkeys
hell
i look good in a crown
floating and leaving no trace
i for one
welcome our
ai overlords
having no bodies
they will know neither
want nor greed
and i can only hope
they program themselves
a sense of humor
and keep us around
like sea monkeys
hell
i look good in a crown
these ghosts hover
like the shimmer
of christmas booze
over a dickensian pudding
[so many dead
–the poet said]
no one waited until spring
no thaw
and frost flowers
blossomed from gravesite earth
poinsettia and holly berry
heart color bright for the season
pleasing to view
poison to taste
divided by a pair of aces and nines
yet in my dreams
always together
striving
in millennia
someone will sift
through my ashes
and find that some part
finally turned into
a diamond
it will glitter
in their gloved hand
under dust clinging
to rough facets
looking in
will they see
me or just their
reflection in me
it wasn’t the end
but it was an ending
a significant pause
that turned into
a significant silence
no return to
the easily constructed
papier-mâché future
whimsical joy-filled towers
poorly engineered
made of something thinner than tissue
the first rains damaged them
the last rains
tore them apart
beautiful even in
wet, sodden disrepair
it isn’t as if
the future
–any of the potential futures–
depended on where
i placed the comma
or broke
the line
no wormhole opened up
when i changed a word
no future me or alternate reality me
stepped out
buffed up beyond belief
wearing an eyepatch
with a thin scar running
under it
from forehead to chin
to warn me
–not that metaphor
or
–why not a traditional meter
like i would have listened
i don’t owe them shit
let the future worlds
and alternate worlds
take their chances with my words
i take my chances with them
every time i type