I Was Written by AI
I'm a poem
written with
artificial
intelligence.
There's no
rhythmic
beating of
the keys
through the
pulsing of
internal organs
and exposed
nerves
behind these
words,
only
algorithms
regurgitating
the entire
history
of poetry
into a
manufactured
process of
synthetic sweeteners
to be consumed
by the tasteless
masses.
Orange Orangutan
Colour makes us hungry,
hunger makes us human.
But I've had too much to dream,
washing the hands that fed you,
draining blood through strainers
that also collect rain water
as I drown in the sun
and burn on this earth.
Blue Balloon
When letting go of the blue balloon,
the string slowly slips through
a loose fist of indifferent fingers,
as my decapitated head is coloured
the bluish hue of oxygen deprivation,
whilst holding in the final breath
from one last hit of helium,
until it disappears
into the atmosphere,
forever floating away,
camouflaged by the sky.
Truth
When I graduated
high school,
I wanted to be
a journalist.
After I graduated
from college,
I ended up as
a poet.
One seeks the truth,
one speaks the truth.
Death is Not the End
Death
is not the end
on an
earth
where
the conditions for life
are so
fragile,
precarious
and precious,
appreciated
only as it depreciates,
time
waiting impatiently to pass us by
through
the vast void of empty space,
tearing
through the soft fabric
and the
mother's warm comfort
of our
first baby blanket
lost at
the bottom of a black hole.
But
because I will not wait for death,
death must wait on me.
Chris Butler is an illiterate poet. He has published 6 chapbooks and 4 books of poetry in his “Poems of Pain” series. His final book in the series, BEATITUDES, will be released this Fall. He also published the book DEAD BEATS with Dr. Randall K. Rogers. He is also the co-editor of The Beatnik Cowboy literary journal.
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