Before proceeding to the points, I am literally forced to share the expletive that

errupted from my person on speaking with ChatGPT concerning my poetic

manifesto:

"Holy shit! (Ah yes, I am a poem who curses.)

No hay nada artificial sobre esa inteligencia."

To proceed,

If you are like me (I must be in a conversation with myself) and cannot remember

what an iam is

Then exactly at all space-time points it will be defined as:

Poet: "I am"

Poem: "I am"

Reader: "I am"

Points on which to proceed:

6. To me or not to

Prose is acceptable

As an other —

Use an em dash

At least once

Q(ueen).E.D.

5. Squash beans against

The sides of the poem

Thicken lines with silken tofu

And molten(s) chocolates

Aside : Birds moltens their feathers in spring.

4. Google something

Nesting dolls

And so on

Next page

And next until

A dead-end

Is always

A cul-de-sac

3. Legs like lampposts

Solid unbroken

Grab your heels

Put your forehead

To the floor

2. Agency as compared

To undercover

Agents or advertising

1. Still the sweat

Beneath breathe

Breasts both

Settle in that

Slightly mossy place

Look back occasionally gently

Look forward compassionately curiously

Look up

Because you can

You must.

Wendy Schaffer received her BA from Clemson, PhD from Columbia and MD from Cornell. She lives in New York City where she reads and writes poetry and ministers to broken hearts as a cardiologist at a local hospital.