Plan

The chaos machine
bombards and overwhelms
with a thousand outrages
over the net,
at our faces,
and again,
and again,
and again.

Racquets in hand,
ready,
steady,
we pick a target
from the incoming barrage,
ours to volley,
and together,
we cover them all.

This is the plan.

113/365

A version of this poem first appeared on Bluesky. Whispered into the acoustic sensors of the sleeping dreaming android, it prompted the electric sheep to generate one more tomorrow…