He asked an AI bot to write a poem
about the angst that living in these times
creates in all of us, set in the home
of some untethered soul, with end-stopped rhymes,
and wholly built on unlinked metaphors,
opaque and inaccessible to most,
with open windows and deadbolted doors,
and maybe someone talking to a ghost.

What came back didn’t mention missing lovers,
or references to ancient, sacred hills,
or cow cats crawling under duvet covers,
or aching thumbs, or after-dinner pills,
no spirit of a parent with vague answers,
no children making images in song,
no acrobats, contortionists, or dancers,
no dreams where everything you do is wrong.