A.I. Artificial Intelligence

Our greatness takes a hand and gathers the light and troubles into a single point. We know our place, our night, our great beaming path. All things fall back to the God-point. Our love saves a space for a lifelong dream; a papery substance neither glossed nor parched. One last look through its selection--a great beaming taken for granted (no more). The minutae of daily walks and glances. Just a stack of papers spidering away. The black substance still in heat, leaving trace droplets a hand-wipe away. The mask is the mask, or it's a silicon mud awaiting destined glory. The man who held hid hands with the children returns for a walk through the wooded edge. All tasks assigned by the Reich as we deeply wish. Another fight through the destroyings and wickerings of dawn. Flat oblong surfaces now faced in granite.

Antennae angled as one point to metropoli. Concrete looks up upon the great sunned metallica. Toned brick leaves us behind. I know not what I do. A fairy stares straight back, is it new this time?