How I Make This

Perhaps my last Substack poem

Somehow 
I've cornered myself in a corporate office 
but the office is an email and the walls are just two strangers
who say I have such a way with words 
why wouldn't I want to teach 
the robot to speak in lyric 

an introduction of sorts 
guiding them to the entrance 
which is an exit 
where the August air heaves in 
through the monotonous gasps 
as the revolving door puckers 

I feel 
the front desk security leer
but this is still an email 
and the eyes I see are my own, reflected 
in the smudged glass 
of a foggy window gone to sleep, so
I cut down the draft into sentance pieces 
and dice the key takeaways 
into stakeholder values 

charming this delicate violent thing 
my knuckles hit the chopping block 
like heels on granite, backspace and indent 
at the tip of every knife is a smaller knife
at the edge of my nails squeals 
a chalk choked scream 

just, step outside with me, please, 
and feel the tender sun tingle 
on your soft face, linger there 
for a long breath, then reach 
into your mouth. Fully unhinge the jaw 
and go all the way down to the elbow, 
you should feel your heart, struggling 
to survive this

that is how 
to source the vowels of a poem,
I cannot teach a machine how to fish 
out a fistfull worth a stolen breath   
how could you expect that 

not to sear out of the cancerous request 
you've dressed in kind offer slacks 
to exchange the very thing 
which makes the toils of self indulgence a riot 
for something swiftly summarized 
and palatable; it is 

so strange to meet you like this
but I am not interested

#

It seems as though the hubub around Substack's new AI scanner has settled, but my feelings about it haven't. Thanks for reading while I decide the future of this blog-thing.