Fred Aiken Writing

Tag: artificial intelligence

secret drones made out of cardboard
fly through ochre clouds exploding in a metallic sky

while catching the eye of artificial puzzle people, playing
guitar with a not-all-too-original idea

the fumbling strum of adolescent, technological innovation
changing minds into time-traveling farces

but at least it’s not generic;
though one might say it’s slightly genetic

insipid moments crushed up into tiny powder

laid out on the table, perhaps one made out of mahogany, or real oak,

maybe some new-age marble made in a lap

under the thumbprint of artificial intelligence glowing like an ember

flowering into jasmine-scented massacres of a future too dumb or realistic

to imagine, over a cup of tea,

perhaps Earl Grey

made simply insipid with little noises,

or perhaps not