Ever wish you could have an artist sit at your side and create visions from your words almost as fast as you can type? At 4 am? Me too, and for some reason all my talented visual art friends have declined.
That makes MidJourney AI art generator something fun to experiment with for National Poetry Month. I write a verse, pass it through MidJourney and out comes my thoughts. I’m doing a few lines a day and posting the resulting image on Instagram. At the end of the month I’ll put them together in a video and read the poem.
Below is the poem so far and what MidJourney has contributed to it. Lines on the images. You can watch the rest of the poem unfold on my Instagram here.
I walk through the heart of the world, dreams metered by thrumming astral pulse invoking primeval divinity, steeped in rapture. 
Monstrous, magic words leak from my mind to stain the pages of my Book of Life, lovely, imperfect smudges and blots. 
This paper is inadequate to hold the blue lotus expressions I try to communicate, ink scratches a pale ghost whisper of what I have seen. 
I wish I could bleed poetry to the cosmos, let the celestial song of this moment flood my veins, sacrifice myself to carnal word carnage. 
I ignite, thrilled to passion as the universe unspins her threads to connect me to stars, galaxies and the colossus that is joy of being. 
I pivot in the flame and eternity unfolds with a lack of regret before collapsing like origami birds in the rain 
The sun sets and I have no concern as the light snuffs from the world. There are always stars. There is always the moon. 
As the sky falls, we embrace and fall into the embryonic chaos with abandon. Life continues, and so do we. 
Raise a glass to despair. Fruit only makes merry after considerable pressure. I refuse to let tears embitter our wine. 
Your tears of ink spill onto the page, and I love you for it. You’ve shared your soul between those lines. 
We can’t escape the darkness. Night is always with us. We look to stars for guidance. We burn the world for warmth. 
And from the clouded shadows comes the answer: love. The answer is always, always love. 
I find it here, between the pages of our book. A story we write in breaths. 
Our foreshadowing is in the clouds with our minds. Our words are the mountains that help us sip moonlight and milky way. 
And no matter how dark goes the night, we have each other to be the light. 
Compelled to dance, no wallflowers here. We are under the spell of the galaxies that spin with us.