I know that there is poetry unheard
Produced at such tremendous bitter cost
That though we never see a single word
We feel its meter, though the sense is lost.
Some say that logic is God's greatest gift
to us; but my computer does that best.
To think is noble but will never lift
An algorithm to its mother's breast.
We're tricked by hormones and our parents' genes
To analyze our thoughts, the inner means
By which we feel; but memes are not the gist;
We only know, and therefore we exist.