by Barbara Loots

“OpenAI upgrades GPT-3, stunning with rhyming poetry and lyrics”
—Ars Technica

I think that I can almost see
a poem growing like a tree;

a tree with a gazillion leaves
of words an algorithm thieves

that instantaneously looks
inside a trillion trillion books

and thus unveils the naked breast
of human souls made manifest

as intimate as underwear
with season’s greetings free and fair;

a tree that throws ungodly shade
upon the messes fools have made.