My songs are like little paper boats
Folded, and refolded, ad-infinitum
then without fanfare
I push them out to sea
A short passage, before sinking
into waterlogged obscurity
Drowned out by the noise
Of a billion other, more insistent voices
Albeit, these sunken boats
Keep me afloat
They’re a promise of new adventure
and a duty I was born into
Now AI is writing songs.
Each one generated cuts me anew.
Death by a thousand cuts
I fold, quietly, alone.
