The fawn in the meadow
tilts her head
as the north wind
rustles the grass.
Message received,
she sets her teeth
to shred the evidence.
23/365
The fawn in the meadow
tilts her head
as the north wind
rustles the grass.
Message received,
she sets her teeth
to shred the evidence.
23/365
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…