AI is groupthink, it’s hewed to pre-existing work,
which it aggregates into something bland and flat.

If you don’t want your work scraped and copied by AI, try
writing off-balance ideas that aren’t for everyone and have faith
that AI will never be able to actually rival human creativity.

Deny AI the echo chamber of predictable content on which it feeds.

I polish my pieces to a pointless sheen, which gives
them an algorithmically indecipherable quality.

When it comes my to poetry, I have to admit,
I’m working through mediocrity—hoping that it’s just a phase.

If failure is essential for growth
I’m going to be a giant

But after all, someone has to define the baseline.
You’re welcome.

Ok, Let’s wax poetic..

There are thousands of stars
in that black outer-place
where gravitas holds them
firmly in place.

I fret not about avian abductions,
or unidentified flying soccers,
still, I’ve a waxed on them
in multiverse
.
.
Songs for this:
I Like You (A Happier Song) [feat. Doja Cat] by Post Malone
Late Night Talking by Harry Styles

In my darkest nightmare
Poets will have grown old
Working 12 hour shifts inside of factories,

Filling lungs with poison,
Hands becoming crippled beyond use of pen.
And heads having grown misshapen ideas;

Of their dreams having been nothing more
Than reminisce of childhood imagination
Left to bloom too wild.

What's in this city?
What brought you all?

Is it what you see,
That sent the call?

You must be so careful,
I do decree
-
For what you see
Is nothing.
Really.