Is this neuro-bot really supposed to be her, this creature, this thing, compiled of the ghosts of human data, the replicas of their past?

Progress daily in your own uncertainty. Live in awareness of the questions.

Hands full
of wrinkled
sunlight and
shadow.

Black clouds
drifting through
starlight.

Light stills dust
into the steel
guitar strings.

Pregnant belly of
sunlight, bouncing
over an open book.

Blue
red
yellow
flowers,
flies
picking
through a
deer's fur
until bone.

A bright star
haunts me,
as I fell in love
with the sunsets
on a breezy rooftop.

Leaves glow under
a haze of sunlight,
and hang
still on a windless
day.

All the latchkey children cursed and smashed bottles, teased about underwear, and puffed on those unfiltered cigarettes that only the cowboys could roll.

I raved
we will find soul
in 5g of dry mushrooms,
humbled by the world
not put into words

sit in nature,
just listen

tears after
lengthy laughter.