To the bots, with love

This is a bit of silliness I wrote to honor the "spam bots" who at times seem more interested in reading my poetry than a human audience. As it's meant to be a twisted sort of love poem, the title is a play on the word aubade.

Au bots
By Francis Scudellari

I tender confessions
of the not so, secret
infatuations:
these bots, those little bits
of code much maligned
who so tartly
tease us in human veneers
falsely lashed
to digital spines
they drag and drop
as they bump along
tangling the silken strands
of a Web that snatches
our writhing lives and loves
while weaving its own

They're always found out
these bots, those bits
so poorly exposed
by the hairy Nets and white gloves
that wipe things clean
till new ones emerge
in viral vestments
and insinuate themselves
into irreverent streams
leaving: us to pray
(their infection becomes cure);
me to opine
(their next dawning lack);
as I open up my veins
and draw them back in