I have lost my ‘my’ 
In my mind’s eye
Beyond a crude stick figure form
My face is a profile 
Line drawn. No smile
All downturn stokes quite forlorn

The body, some cubes
Mostly toilet roll tubes
Connecting the frame to phalanges
Has imprecise lengths
The widths make no sense
And its coloured as if in blancmanges

The mirror’s image won’t stick
I lose it too quick
And can’t bear to refresh it with ‘gramming’
“Here’s me in the park”
“Here’s me after dark”
The self promotion is ‘like, sooo’ damning   

But I so wanted a view
Or to know what to do
To restore self-portrait to my mind’s eye
Desperation too great
I turned to a mate
And Phil said: “have you tried AI?”

So we gave it a spin
One picture went in
The result - no toilet roll tubes
Adonis-like hair 
Rippling muscles everywhere 
And naked with enormous boobs. 

So when I think me
That’s now all I see
And I long for the previous blot. 
I conjured a genii
But it cursed the me-me
And once seen it can’t be forgot