Google and the Poets
Tim Barrus
85

At least they laughed.

A seed, a germ, an anomaly of data;

a forest, a mutation, an update,

riding in the backs of their heads.

When the machine eats them and shits out their selves,

When the self eats them and shits out their souls,

When the soul eats them and shits out

a seed

a forest

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