Poetry Game: A.I. vs. Humans (Day #1)

So I decided it might be fun to make daily poetry game, where you, the reader, need to guess whether it was written by a bot or a human. At the following day's post I'll explain if it was either one of them.
Lets kick of the day #1 with 5 poems:

1.
Neither quiver nor silence nor blood colored.

Nor silvery but transparent
conquer me and let my substance light
I stayed entertained and yellow,
outside the thicket
graves of a parched car?
delicate as a difficult turkey?
Return to the homeland of the veins.

If I could drink the stick and the heights
they loathed it with bitter roses
they impaled it with sifted leaves
in the lethargic peace, many mourning alarms
and meetings of callous heart
the delicate ripples hated
a sunshine
of railroad tracks
to the original fluidic hat.

Come with me to the nail of blood
like vigils stealing within leaves
The heart plays on its motionless mare
recovering
marine rituals over the heights.

2.
Pure moth grows the bells
of a dark giant that weaves shades of sunburst orange
and so that its blood will replace your eye
honeysuckle of a disintigrated lewd serenity.
Browbeaten whispers and motionless clocks
a boundless clouds of keys
went pacified in serendipity,
to seek another land.

3.
Come with me to the vortex of wax
inside the bitter area of dead telegraph.
All ribbons become jugulars
and the window to its window
and among the wells the lion hearted one
the mother covered with free moon
went fluttered in planetarium
the earth real wounded soldiers are shattered
to the steady color of the copper reflection
among
yellow water and blue beds
brings all the lunges bottles
The uranus preserves on its ghostly mare
fluttering burnt umber miracles over the universe.

Has the archipeligos
The bitterest lobster flies in the scrupulous blood
in the transparent hips of the fire.

4.
Upgrading a evening star
responded in the soft snow
that life in it's diamond boxes is as endless as the elixir
the secure bottle that is lyrical and equinoctial
to flow lost stars in the sky
and for stones.

5.
It grows like a jar next to the sea's skin
the sensual books deluded
from her breath
and her eyelids stand
lemons of the earth
the dead pullulations is resolute on your breath.

Not the sepia moment
when the afternoon rustles the trousers
continuing toward the river bank.

I'd like to know if You'd wish any other format of presenting the poems e.t.c.