I don\'t get new writers
The people who feed prompts
Like Flintstones vitamins
Into Grok\'s greedy mouth
And expect it to churn
Grumble and growl
As lines of code pretend
In a sequestered data center
To be neurons
Which collapse and gnaw
At each other
Until the sun dies
And the moon burns
And the space between worlds
Boils into the nothingness
That awaits us
Like a tumbler of cool water
With a promise of one last,
Final, Forever good night.
I guess you could try ChatGPT.
The students speak in code
Like speakeasies in the prohibition
Avoiding the cops and hiding barrels
Of prewritten essays like contraband.
They call him Chad. Like the country.
Or maybe Cher. You know the one.
They say things like \"Chad will fix it\"
When the lightbulbs die out.
And now there\'s self driving cars
That ferry people like the dead
Only no one cries
And a digitized voice hand picked
Sounding like your second grade teacher
That one time you met her in a Publix
Tired, annoyed, but warm
As you slide your debit card against a chip reader
Too afraid to try swiping
Says it\'s okay, I haven\'t hit anyone yet.
Wars aren\'t even fought by men anymore.
People still die, but they can\'t call it murder
When a drone explodes a school bus driving down I-85 for a trip to Fernbank.
Sue\'s bones collect different fingerprints
As the bones are buried
Singlefile
Under a new server meant to host all the data
A tyrannosaurus ever represented.
It\'s grown cold
And the wind died.
We cough in our xenon clouds of cigarettes
And Kabar vapors.
I don\'t remember the last time I touched someone\'s hand
The world is moving on in the dustless
Carnivorous void where the stars used to be
Maybe we are, too.