A walking, talking, lie

A walking, talking lie

With rictus smiles we beckon,

our inner desires materializing.

A phalanx

no-a plague of heavy produce,

not of our own.

Tis the mantis awoken-

from the droppings of a bird.

A walking, existential lie.

Niches of uncertainty subjugated,

the newest technology.

Like how my whelp fills the recesses

between my legs

(her napping spot)

when lethargy consumes me.

From a restrained cow,

a weaning infant

our walking, talking, brethren

becomes.

Like the tares across the field,

like a plague of locusts,

multiplying.

Reality? truth? conscience?

the distinction blurs.

In a heap of taciturn lies,

lies.

A benign pestilence? Artificial intelligence?