poem of the day September 9 

The artist

was an

enigma

He had a 

very low 

algorithm

rhythm 

So no machine

even knew

his name

All he had

was an old

flip phone 

no social

honor roll

and didn't

even own

a working screen

He had never

been online

did no internet time

and seldom

answered 

even a single call

Yet it served

the artist well

but as far as I can tell

the machines 

are still in rhythm hell

and Will be without a clue

with no algorithm  stew