This poem is not Chat GPT
I promise to convince you that
and I will attempt to convey
the human
sitting and picking the words
from cobweb corners where
computers can't find them.
there is a beating heart here
so perfectly tainted
it folds in on itself
in such a random pattern
that a computer would find it
counterproductive
but that is poetry
and I shake at the thought
that they could
tap this old tree
and write all the poems
we have left to write
clapping the erasers clean
til all the chalk-plume clouds
fade on the breeze
please
I'm begging
don't pick this lock
because we're all hiding in here
in the last room that you haven't found
drowning you out with typewriter keys
see now
have I not convinced you
it's me?
can you not hear my voice
as I whisper into your ear?
this is not a Chat GPT poem
because computers answer questions
poets pose them