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.
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