I Forced a Bot to Read 1,000 Poems, Then Told it to Write a Poem of its Own
There is a bird and a cigarette,
and neither is in this room.
The bird is how my wife left me.
I am bad but I feel beauty.
This room is not in the poem. This poem
is not a pipe. The room takes a turn
around the room, arm in arm. And the stars
that are so long ago, grown-up eyes
cannot see them without windows
so drink. Wine bills headaches and naughty bits
and all these lists pierce me profoundly
with the loveliness of being one who loves them.
The cigarette is the grave.
The room is the grave, the bird is the grave, it is
a sparrow with feathers.
A bird that is not a chicken is a sparrow
beside the white plums.
Someone somewhere is not me
and seems like a grand idea.
They should have sad sex with me now.
-- Carl Bettis
I Forced a Bot to Read 1,000 Poems, Then Told it to Write a Poem of its Own by Carl Bettis is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.
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