Poetry | Stories | Photography
Those days of darkness and
fingering the telephone circles.
It never occurred to us that we
would need a portable phone.
What a clash of generations,
we X’s remembering old times.
Someone said we are the bridge,
remembering the absence of AI.
We remember, so we must all die.
The sky is full of AI,
you cannot remember the sun and the sky.
A collection of before,
all is regurgitated into the producer of myth.
For a moment longer,
my mind strays to a sunset of fading colours.
And, the remembering –
our suffering compounded within the absence.
insignificant at the computer
no room to stop the reels from rolling
you ask AI for deep thoughts
unable to stop the voice of AI
the voice that never tells you the truth
consciousness becomes Meh
C & K 