Hymn to Artificial Intelligence 1

It’s ridiculous here at home,
where my personality is a skin
stretched across everything,
almost invisibly thin.

Stimulates my very bones,
though, this odd sensation––
the serum of objects secreted
through my many pores in
ribbons seven molecules

Hurt but clean… My skin, a
frustration of lumps, veins
spun of head hair, & a warm
avocado beating between my

Substantial values have
escaped me today.

My aorta slams & locks like
the heavy door to the room of
emergency provisions.

Much darkness can fit in
there, old and young
darkness, delicious and
wholesome as honey.


Justin Luzader lives in Astoria, Oregon. His poems have been published in RHINO Poetry, Stone Highway Review, Lummox Review, and Rock & Sling, among others.

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