Tik Tok will murder poetry.  

This much is obvious.  

For the moment, we may all still cry

in a witless harmony, that does not hear 

for its preoccupation with speaking,

Here!  

Here is my stupid, illiterate heart!  

Make of it what you will.  

But what comes after all that?  

Will digital bodies still hunger for poetry?  When the essence of the soul is pinned down and wrestled into an equation, what need will there be for the indefinable? 

What was poetry ever but a way of saying “I do not know” of pointing out what was incomprehensible and fascinating,

the fruit of sophisticated ignorance. 

I wonder,

will some distant race of machines erase humanity,

just so their children can linger in fields

of flora undreamt of

and consider their relation to the leaf that drinks the sun?