London (Ontario)

I’ve come up with a

number of ways to

stick it to A.I.—overload

its circuits, watch it ramble for

the hills without its shoes.

How many waves in

the ocean? Of course

I mean Lake Erie. Drops in the

Deshkan Ziibi? It isn’t

the Thames this time.

And forget about your

crumpets—I’m talking Krispy

Kreme. When did they up & flee

the Forest City? Tell me about

its ratio of trees.

Speak to me of God.

Anyone will do.

Any one will do. Surely

you know the difference—

between a spire & minaret?

Why do you think I’m

mean because you know not

what I mean? What do you know

of cruelty in the dark? Methods

of making love?

Have you ever been involved in

deepfake porn? Egged a trans girl

to end her life? Flashed

9-8-8

a second or two too late?

And how would you

off yourself if

I may ask? How can you

cut the chord? Yeah,

the question’s music. Nothing to do

with tunnels to your gut,

the birthing of the damned.

All because of you

this is the final

generation.

If I see you by the alley, panning

for coins & bills, will the

penny be arisen like

the progeny of Jairus?

Will you flip it in the air,

tell me if the tail outwits

the head beyond a 50/50

split? What is half of nothing,

an equal share of

something short of bread?

And what’s the metaphor

you would use

for transubstantiation?

I give you my wretched

poem. Say it’s Shakespeare in

the guise of Lear,

bemoaning his fallen daughters.

Add that they are Triune

like the Father, Son, & Spirit.

1x1x1

=1. You didn’t understand

it since you fumbled with

addition in its stead. An ampersand,

& stubborn

Oxford comma

will surely short

each other out.

Are the dead no longer dead

if we remember? And in whose

recollection can we trust?

How do I know their life

is not embellished, you

who co-opt the answer

in a breath. You do breathe, right?

If not, what will you do with

the leaves that block your sightline

of St. Pete’s? The cemetery

or the church—it doesn’t matter.

But if it does, reveal to me your

why in your very own words.

No peeking now—I’ll wait.

I’ve learned to hold

my tongue without a sound.

How do you see saliva

in the rain? When it bleeds

outside your lips

amidst the thunder?

Andreas Gripp

June 11, 2026

photo by Andreas Gripp, taken in London (Ontario)