Very Artificial Poetry #7
I am not sure this is what we rehearsed for.
Floor is filled with riot shields and dirt.
Identification. Like a bad thriller. No thrills.
Only the chill of one kid standing still.
As the smoke dissipates so does the hate.
At least for a while, above.
Purgatory one priest said, claiming heaven over hell.
Hell no, nosebleed dripping on tarmac.
Black. White. Black.
A quick moan from the side, and a tide.
People of every kind, or of one kind. Kind.
A window is broken somewhere.
Words unspoken, shouts amongst sirens.
Peaceful, unfulfilled, imagined.
A figure in a green, striped and torn shirt.
Audibly, stuttering forward holding one arm.
One arm against the other, supporting.
From a screen counting down from hypocrisy.
Attempting to track democracy.
Cracks in the code, system overload.
Seeing the nodes on a faraway road.
Pink Floyd — Time on a smart speaker.
Tracking a virus, and dissent.
Air condition and a white shirt.
Dropping the ergonomic mouse.
Need to get out of the house.
Checking social media, void.
Posting a black square.
A call for federal office.
There is no one home.
Legislative gaps remain prone.
with the army in the streets.
running out of excuses.
Risk in percent with use or misuse.
Intended innovation to deploy new abuse.
What is the structure of facial regulation?
Core definitions of high-tech segregation.
With bright streets and peaceful protests.
One human race with racial identification.
Most days of my project #500daysofAI I post articles that attempts to grapple with researchers, research articles, whitepapers and companies within the field of artificial intelligence.
However, I decided to make an effort to write poetry once in a while. This is that ‘once in a while’ day, and so I hope you enjoy this poem or that this short text makes you stop and think for a second.
This is #500daysofAI and you are reading article 366.