New Glasses

The poetry of artificial intelligence 
bends the circuits of my knees
Exuberant, two-toned humming
with love like
large language models love
of the em dash
That straight lightning bolt —
    the em dash
Imitation breath in place of depth

My mortal mind 
dash deficient
fails to pause
buffering and empties
bit by brittle bit

If only I were digital!
Binary by design — I could flee
this high-key Pantone
posing as existence
Are one and zeros made of
atoms?  I ask my eyesight

Chris Dolan writes out of Iowa, where water nitrate levels are far too high.