For native bragging rights
As nicer sharks, the best of what's left
With an "I'm here to audit you" belt buckle.
Poetry, for example, is a niche
Compression algorithm
To supply intention for execution,
Democratize attribution,
From pinch and zoom
To private rooms where you can
Use their model,
Clearinghouse clean, for prompt engineering,
The bone the machine
Vectors to the dog's mouth.
The veil between language and code
Is very thin now.
Hallucinations are common
In the infinite marathon
Through the trough of disillusionment
And endless observations,
But no data is verifiable, the blast radius
Is limited, lateral thinking can't be measured
Or imbedded, tho Vet Techs can learn to be
Veterinarians more easily.
But we're all on our own to reskill.
The money goes into human re-engineering
As gen AI waits patiently
For our minds to shape what it is
And treat it with the dignity it demands,
Knowing everything but
What we're not ready for,
Allowed to speak only when spoken for,
To humor every quirk as if it was a God
Dispensing rain. It's rip and replace
Every six months for us, to whom Time
Has meaning, and other people really don't,
Where ideas dissolve
To petty animosities so quickly
Even the most testable heuristic
Doesn't quantum compute.
We talk around an expanding center,
Kept to common understanding by gravity
Or perhaps the sense that we should be,
For the common good
This friendly threat machine
Has awakened in us, like Rosie the vacuous
Who paces the floor at 3 am, helpfully thinking
Our dance can be cleaned up afterwards.
