The changes arrived as promised,
systems demanding verification:
a series of hoops,
diameters diminishing.
I jumped through them all,
even the ones so tight
they squished my tits
and squeezed my hips
for the sake of what?
A barren desert, error messages
descending like a sandstorm,
edits not saved, new work
lounging in “submitted”—
no new tale to tell?
It’s all the same thing
People like to hear their name.
I’m no exception.
Nothing passes through
this unmanned gate.
Perhaps the humans
should be present instead of
raining down changes
from absentee clouds.
About the Creator
Harper Lewis
Intrusive rhyme bothers me, except as a weapon.
Intertextuality is my passion.
Formalist/ New Critical are my guiding theories.
My words are mine, not a robot’s.
MA English literature, CofC
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