The digital Jesus
Will never
Delete our soul
But forever
Let us scroll
And battle
With AI
To settle
What is from the sky
Or that carbonic
Which overwhelms
Our spirit symbolic
But lacks eternal realms
Of perpetual genius

Its early evening
And thunder clamors
While receiving
Bird like rumors
Of what will happen
When a storm
Comes rappin
Upon an avian dorm
The air chills
My ears deafen
An insect trills
My soul smitten
It gets darker
More quiet
Deadfully starker
Than a riot

She is maybe here
But probably not
Certainly she marks
What we call here

But that blot
Ignores
Holy smears
What is not

The way
Life does convey
Upon crazy
Creatures who lay

In the way
Of life
And sway
Selling strife

But she is lost
Noise
And poise 
At no cost

I’m following
A Brahms
Symphony broadcasting
And it calms

But my
Relative
Would just sigh
As I strive

Throw out
Bull shit
And shout
Just quit

But Brahms
And I 
Share no qualms
Reaching the sky

It’s early
Mid spring
And the birds
Just
Run this place
An oratorio
In every space
Lust
Without words
A simple thing
Being horny

So says Google
Admitting the piano
Was invented during his life
But never sounding well
In any resurrection
Of Bach’s keyboard gamble

Take a bugle
Blow it in any seraglio
Then find a wife
Who would tell
Bach the new direction
Of clavicular scramble

Poetry needing
A date
Something pleading
A month’s fate

But it be
Weird
That we see
The feared

Truth
That Poetry Month
Forsooth
Rhymes merely with month

Literary merit
And money
Sounds funny
You can't spend it 

It’s honey
Made from spit
And a dab of shit
On days sunny

The only human
Thing
That makes us sing
Is bloomin’

Each spring
When loss
Gains gloss
Making us sing

You can sleep 
Forever
Maybe never
Why sweep
Then sever
You saver
From the heap
A sweater
For all weather
Unless you’re cheap

My readers stopped
My spirit plopped
My hope cropped
My bubble popped
My future flopped
My head topped
My soul mopped
My desire unstopped