Ocean wanders in to contemplate me

drafts a verse about my ankles in

twisting foam, scrambles the lines

and forgets. A mirror in the slick

afterthought of water on sand

where my feet sink in soft parchment

PART I: AI is created

I think God made you and me out of binary code You call me an enigma,

But I do not speak your language. You would be the 1’s.

Standing tall

Always at the top

Perfect Aryan halo on your head I would be the 0’s.

The credits recover,

and suddenly like a k9 you snuffle the criminal boyhood out of my skin.

I always think myself circumspect in my cover-ups, but in seconds you know where my blindspot is.

Mmm, you are a distracted assent, you coat like cold sweat,

glisten

like contented sleep.

And then you are songless– muh like mundane, buzzing of the lampshade fibers,

quivering

from the lamplight flicker.