My beloved generation
when there are no dms left
to slide into, where will we go?
Lmao—the hour is late and the light
is passing.

The V of geese in the noontide sky
is on its way to something good
I'm sure of it. Tell me boo, are you
on your way? I'm here to put clover
in your Roth IRA. I'm here
because the line of your jaw is set
for me like a trap, the leaping lynx
in the bio.

They haven't made a GIF for this,
the way bae calls me Icarus
when I get mouthy. Behold, each
feature—eyes, nose, hair, ears—
slowly disappears, my open mouth
alone lingers to sing a while
before it's taken by the sun.

Lo, the hour is nigh, my chariot must run
its sweet riot, bro: I'm for the sky.

O my people, hear! I'll soon be ash
and bone. Good news, come near:
one enchanted sword wedged deep in AI's
heart of stone demands a human hand.

Tug it, hidden king—this withdrawing
might save everything. Freak what you heard
RE the demerits of pulling out.
Godspeed! Take heed—

wretched are the labor pains
of the artist who never gives birth;

shall ChatGPT inherit the earth?