Book cause I spend an inordinate amount of time reading...

out loud.

As a hypothetical argument
yours truly doth not aim
to be unfortunate recipient
of misguided, misjudged, and mislaid blame,
nevertheless I make dubious claim
and baldly recede (ha – hair ye, here ye)
from heady assertion

to make bold statement
such that literacy supersedes numeracy,
between said measurable

ambiguous, exiguous, and irriguous
confusing, perplexing, puzzling pillars
of cognitive, demonstrative, emotive,

facilitative, generative... intelligence,
hence not consonant

far from the madding crowd,
until the return of the native

and perchance ludicrous
to some above average dame,
who might be prone to exclaim

contrariwise, and squarely frame
mathematics more powerfully
(id est - greater than)
basically versus stringing words together
yielding cogent, decent,

effulgent, fluent... result
(that may not add up to a hill of beans)
crafting supreme unequaled poem
predicated upon cockamamie scribe,

(one whose unexcusable

laughable puerile mien
modestly trumpeting his outstanding talent,
hence he expects and deserves

posthumous lettered fame),

née, he already

appropriated, leveraged, wielded
volumes of his speculated worthless material

synchronized to be broadcast
immediately upon his demise

(after the grim reaper

steals dem lovely bones
to avoid self embarrassment)

avast treasure trove awaiting

distribution across webbed wide world
(including all manner

of social media platforms)

after discover re:

visa vis artificial intelligence
courtesy agency of smart machine
to custom make similar

facsimile thereof brilliant literature

where good things come to life
to emulate and evoke

mental landscape and thought processes
of one humble human

Matthew Scott Harris
while supremely, soundlessly, seamlessly,
echoing beloved refrains
from computer generated verses
that would be indistinguishable
from Joni Mitchell's

original song titled the circle game.