bewear
dictator poem god says
ZOM
let me mansplain
it’s 2026, AIs now have socials,
what could possibly go wrong?
private machine language at the speed of laugh?
dick do this and doodle that, then
a nonconscious cooperative
runs up the improbability ladder?
while you and me baby
hang on tight
we know we’re-hanging-on-tight…
so what shall we wear today?
our being, our being thrown
across the sky of reason?
through a fiery
sunset, haha, into
ZOM B land?