A mix
The quiet firebird in the trees,
where people sit, heads bowed, hearing nothing.
a rare and horrorshow moment of real feeling—
old-world tunes, fading into the dark with thee.
the voice I hear tonight,
singing away in a, shadowy nook,
maybe it’s the same
but my ears can’t catch it.
I’ll come to thee,
not by force, but on the silent wings,
your final requiem would slap me into dust.
windows, opening to some distant sea.
your sad little anthem’s fading now,
the music’s gone,
am I awake, or still stuck in this dream?
In answer too
You know this AI thing makes you lazy
who ever thought you could write like
Anthony Burgess all horrorshow and Russian
and George Orwell just all Russia.
I don’t know if they would have loved being
a translation of Keats perhaps they would
or maybe Keats was a socialist
if I was odeing to a Nightingale I’m not sure
Orwell and Burgess would be a good chorus
I have to tell you something
I have to say that I took the Russian out cause
well cause I didn’t want the American’s
that vote for an unnamed individual to think
it was the start of the cold war
cause they’re a bit old and their reading comprehension
isn’t that good, no really, they have trouble
I mean they think they can understand
he who shall not be named
and that isn’t a reference to J K Rowling
who’s a terf and kinda politics well with him
and Winston Peters
