My sugar’s artificial. It’s a fact. So is my creamer.
A year ago, I had a little crackup in my Beemer,
and now I have an artificial ear and foot and femur.
Pretty soon my whole darn life will just be what it seems,
while the authentic “real” of me will be a thing of dreams.
I can’t find where I stored my leg, I left my fur coat somewhere.
I parked my car last week but can’t remember how to come there.
So if it’s really necessary—all this substitution,
I’m asking some inventor to come up with a solution.
If artificial intelligence is the way it’s going to be,
please implant me with an artificial memory!
The prompt word today was “artificial.”