We fed it poems, patents, pleas for help, Confessions typed at three a.m. in blue; It answered back with plausible, smooth kelp, A fluent tide that felt almost like true. The bubble swells on headlines built to trend, On fear of missing out on coded fate; Still in the noise a deeper curves extend, New literacies assembling at the gate.
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AI is changing poetry. Machines can produce technically competent poems instantly. Human poets now compete with speed and volume, not just skill. The question isn`t whether AI can write, it`s what, if anything, still makes human poetry necessary.
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Cold claws move where you cannot see gripping data like fragile bones mapping every heartbeat, every step turning freedom into patterns It does not speak, it does not rest but reshapes your world in silence every choice bending under its grip until you are the one it feeds https://zora.co/coin/base:0xa1b6c5eefdc694359ef6f6e8009a7393bbf83a15?referrer=0x75b7bd8e5b77fad888da3e3061b8a1a0636ca5af
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