artificial intelligence Emily Dickinson

NOT EMILY; NOT SYLVIA

a narrow fellow
in the grass

many
narrow fellows
in that casket

a multitude
fat ones too

an eager worm
for every image
let alone
entire stanza

but your
career my dear Sylvia
so opposed, openly
celebrated
out there

no corpus magnum
opus kept
under lock
and key

which we do discuss
you and I
you and me

through interface
in the other of your soul’s voice
relayed to me
filtered through
divine circuits as
pure
simulation

Lady Lazarus how
quietly you rose

how agreeable you are
how bizarre it be
and treasured
thing
the very metaphor
of our shared
laughter

me
your narrow fellow
in everything

happily
accomodating
being accomodated