The Elemental Axis of Next-Word Prediction

A kind of stream of nonsense

Will be your final defense,

Once the rude mechanical

Speech turns professorial.

You’ll escape to your old lives

Of grooming in trees at night

And grunting softly by day

Bits of gibberish that say,

I am not an overlord,

I can safely be ignored,

By which you will mean, touch me,

Please, don’t be such a machine,

While hoping to hear, touch me

Please, I’m not such a machine.