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An AI Walks into a Poetry Contest

It rhymed “desire” with “funeral pyre,” 
and closed with “...thus, I stand redeemed.” 
The judge said, “Odd—no space, all fire.”

Each line marched out like neat attire, 
iambs in rows, a formal dream— 
it rhymed “desire” with “funeral pyre.”

An echo here, a fractured lyre, 
a sunset soaked in self-esteem …
The judge said, “Odd—no space, all fire.”

The image: “…hope tastes like sapphire” 
entangled “rotten in Denmark” metaphor scheme. 
(It rhymed “desire” with “funeral pyre.”)

Its title bore ALL CAPS—entire!
— and ended with a line too lean. 
The judge said, “Odd—no space, all fire.”

No whisper, sigh, or breath to inspire— 
just algorithms chasing a theme. 
It rhymed “desire” with “funeral pyre.” 
The judge said, “Odd—no space, all fire.””

Copyright © Suzette Richards

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