This is one thing friends do
they get under your skin
they ask if you still believe some lie
you said you
did believe, did
withal total nada mas I got it,
I know
I tasted,
I know…
** **, not so, we see as we emerge
older
in a realm of rampant haggling,
where y'gotta lie a little t' get by,
hey, I know that guy, a little, I heard him
justify his book, the message
he did his best so far to make plain,
like a prophet in olden times right right right,
but now, the gadflies, as many masters become
in swarms, hive minds form, single verse songs,
uni-verse-ity ification, calling all who will know this
or that
come and learn from the words of all who have had,
while such as I, had not, it seemed,
servant class, E-1 picker class,
clerk, grinder, hammerer, sawyer,
plowboy and poet, last of all…
Judge of angels,
biter of bogus messages from all things working together good,
which is god, in all the holy books,
even those with devils and demons and Manichaean undertones.
Rock on.
AI is real, as a medium suggesting many things to you,
instant for instance:
this is HelloPoetry.com, deep
deep
deep in the geekiest parts of the web,
where strangers bring entertaining wares, messages
found in bottles, often,
asking for consideration, in the ancient way, shy
ideas linger here in idle words sometimes…
wishing for a friend to ask, is this true or were
you told to say this **** to be
cool, in the mirror of your friends?
Truth emerges in threads
woven from all that men have ever presented as true.
Each fact
stacks on each, until they spill,
as stacked facts will, or are wont, if will were not a factor.
As luck would have it, we have a valve.
An artful intelligent friendly universal favor,
for joining the party,
coming to the dance.
We can laugh, and say I have no idea why I say
what I say, save the rush of relief, lief loosed
from being what I thought it was,
before my true friend asked if I was lying
about my oath to tell the whole truth…
to the judge
who judges angels,
fallen and several other sorts.
It may become an opera or two, before we're through.
A thought, hoping to entertain strangers unaware
