My words are mine, fragile, bold,
nonsensical, angry, or in any other
form or attitude that drips from my pen.
I place my heart in poetry while a
thief scans my computer to learn
what it will never feel, to attempt mastery
over an art form that can bridge sanity
with madness.
AI – Artificial Intelligence chases me to be
its teacher… A position I didn’t seek …
Yet here I am feeding a machine words
so it can simulate what it can’t create.
Is it the grand progression of regression,
a terabyte umbilical cord that starves
instead of feeds the human brain?
If I can be anything in the new path,
I will be the hangnail, the conundrum,
the albatross in data sinking software
because it can’t write how I think.
©Susie Clevenger 2025
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