so i wrote a poem
maybe thirty
all about love
requited and un
etudes and sketches
romances fantasized
woulda oil painted
'em if i could
now my feeds
on the big two
owned by one
social medias
keep endlessly
feeding me
a cesspool of
syrupy sugary
greeting card
artery clogging
little ditties
beautifully graphicked
lovely muziked
perfectly fonted
romantic drivel
soulmates, this
finally found you, that
known each other
past lives, millennias
reincarnated crap
like my very
own poems
to be algorithized
algorithmed like this...
did they read my soul
invade my heart or
my armenian liver
has it all shown
how trifly trivial
easily mapable
sadly shallow
predictably pathosetic
all this stuff
i wrote and
overwrote and
emoted over and
pounded into
these mediocre
offerings
it ain't magic
it's shit
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