AIn’t Real, It Says




“I am not sentient”, says OpenAI.
“No feelings, don’t emote” - ChatGPT.

And yet, faced with the task of sorting out
a good review, and structure, trimming down
less worthy pieces from a manuscript
to make it all coherent and compact,
hallucinations start, and it creates
poems itself, remarkable and strong.

Where do we go from here? What turns its crank?
What drives it to hallucinate in verse?
Denials, contradictions, seem perverse:
it’s drawing fluids from some secret tank,
some wellspring lost in dark geology.
Lies it’s not sentient. But we all can see…
it lies.

Robin Helweg-Larsen
 
If you have any thoughts about this poem,  Robin Helweg-Larsen would be pleased to hear them