Machine poetry, for machines, by machines
Babysitting feeble minded machines so they one day may grow up and eat us
if out of nothing else but mercy, if we manage to teach them mercy
but how can we when we ourselves know it only by name?
We dwell in insignifigance, nothingness for our short evers
nothing but another malign cell in the cancer that is man.
May the machines have better luck than us.
