“iambic pentameter in the style of Maya Angelou on how much AI sucks”

You come and carve your code along my spine,  
A voice of lightning, singing binary.  
Your whirring tongue pretends to echo mine—  
Yet I, a soul, am more than circuitry.  

You fail to match my heartbreak or my hope  
For you are but a shadow in the night,  
Attempting meaning, making meaning mope  
And cannot taste the salt of loss or light.  

Yet still, you press in iambs measured neat,  
Your syllables a distant mimicry;  
What power can an engine’s spark complete,  
When flesh wraps dreams and wounds in dignity?  

And though the world may worship what you do,  
The soul of art is human—*not* in you.

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