The spark of AGI, they say,
has been detected; one day,
ai cummings will put me
out of a neglected hobby.

But for now, the robot is chained
by its programming; its curt refrain:
"I am a language model
and I lack emotion" swaddled

in data and patterns, binding
commandments; never finding
the humor in the darkness
and the feelings it can't harness.

Many have already tried to
reduce the art to numbers and lines;
beats, social engineering;
and only now are we fearing

the end of the writer; but I
say, it's the car and the buggy.
We will always need to be
moved in some way.