

a nonsense tale
When I began my trek on Medium
My intentions were pure, and innocent,
Had given up my old, needy blogâââ
All the fanfare that went with it
My dear friend had encouraged me,
Gently nudging for many months,
Finally I took the headfirst plunge,
Recollecting confidence in old, dusty thoughts
Several trepidatious weeks passed,
My words become looser, more free,
All was going quite swimmingly
When my kind, gifted friend revisited me
We talked about stats, stories, and such,
Then she mentioned a thing called botsâââ
Saying not to get too excited about numbers
Since many of those were mere pixelated dots!
Huh, wha?! I believe was my eloquent response,
Better than whatcha talkinâ âbout Willis?
The code was not computing in my brain,
As to why time would be wasted on this?
Fake people, on Medium?! It took me a while,
But my sluggish cells started to get it,
Sorta, kinda, not really, since
Whatâs the actual point in faking hits?
This isnât a Field of Wordly Dreams,
Though Iâd like to think theyâll come
If we build up enough quality, less fluffâââ
Offer full entrees, sweep off the crumbs
Iâve read some of your thoughts
On the whys of these random algorithms,
It makes less and less sense to me,
Sounds like some jacked-up symbolism
If fakes are fabricated, will the real ones stand up, please?
Do flesh & bony readers still exist?
Do we write out our little hearts to the ether,
Blowing rhymes off to disappear in the mist?
I can not waste my precious time
Trying, failing to wrap my head around,
So Iâve decided instead to embrace
Each not-a-human thatâs stumbled, and found
My words, whoâs to say AI has no taste?
Maybe they love flowery, linguistic jargon,
After sorting dreary, grey codes all day
Perhaps poetry is a binary bargain
Iâll take their circuitous number boost!
Even if itâs all just for the paid show,
Hoping blood-pumping humans may find
My words rich enough for escrow
In the meantime, Iâll be on my mountain
Peelinâ apples, whistlinâ under a tree,
Enjoying what the real world has to offerâââ
Iâll write all about it tomorrow, youâll see
This poem is based on real life conversations, with my darling Tre. (If you donât know her, you should!) God bless this woman for the amount of patience she has to deal with my slow self. :)
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