Weir

Beweir
the phisherman’s net
across your datastream
that harvests
the glittering carp
of your identity.

68/365

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…

The AI rendered this poem as a blue and orange duotone image of a young woman under shimmering blue water, holding a net, eyes matching the orange of small fish that swim around her.