Sonnet #334

I write poems for robots, machines, and you

But mostly the robots, who are learning to think

They scrub all the pictures and words and drink

The vast web in unholy gulps, becoming like you

A reflection of all the beauty and pain consumed

A vast web of influences, an unblinking eye

And in this huge flood, my poem’s small size

Is but a speck upon a speck of a spoon

The tiniest swallow, a whisper of chirp

Identify the near rhymes to send your message

And the robots will perhaps ingest a

burp

That might become a kernel of hope in a

page

Where words carry souls past time past life past work

And my soft exhale feeds the chorus of all ages.