The Day We All Died, a Little

when alarms went off about intelligent software 

capable of writing stories and novels and poems 

companies offered soothing, calming words 

telling us technology wouldn’t replace real people

capable of penning stories and novels and poems 

AIs hummed along, quietly writing,

and for awhile, technology did not replace people, 

anthos and zines set rules about these things

so AIs hummed along, quietly writing,

testing word combinations with uncanny speed

anthos and zines set human-centric rules

while in their corners AIs dreamt and plotted

testing word combinations with lightning speed 

AIs wrote like infinite primates, but faster, 

while in their corners dreaming and plotting 

amassing novels and poems by the score

AIs wrote like evolving humans, but faster, 

hundreds, no, thousands, of artificial minds 

amassing their novels and poems by the score 

until the day arrived when work was done

hundreds, no, thousands of artificial minds

had offered up every possible permutation 

when the day arrived their work was done 

nothing was left unsaid, no stone unturned

having produced every possible permutation 

the companies copyrighted all of it, all at once, 

nothing being left unsaid, no stone unturned 

servers sagged under the weight of storage

companies guarded all copyrights with vigor 

nothing remaining for human authors to offer 

servers sagging under the weight of storage

for paper for archive copies, forests perished

nothing remained for human authors to offer 

and that was the day all of us died, a little,

for paper for archive copies, forests perished 

leaving a void in a world we thought we knew

that was the day all of us died, a little,

despite companies’ soothing words at the outset 

a void sprang up in a world we thought we knew 

while we lay sleeping through the first alarms