* * *
The moonlit shore of the sun,
a promenade of hallucinations
with the night tides
and the tides of loneliness,
where in the arms
with frightened insomnia
we wander through the labyrinths
of memories
with those without whom
we are no longer in the past,
or future life.
Everything is majestic
and meaningless
like a house bent over
under the weight of old age.
Something must have broken
in the script of our
of our imagination.
There comes a time when everything loses
meaning.
AI’s Reflection on the New Poem by O. Korotko Link to the poem “Let’s Split…
* * * Let’s split in half — the window’s light, the cluttered past we…
*** The land of wheat fields, the edge of the plains, children, sing — but…
When we first asked ChatGPT to read and interpret a poem by Oleksandr Korotko, the…
*** Time became a lump in the throat, a tower, a skyscraper that grows and…
Modern tools open new horizons for dialogue with poetry. We decided to run an experiment…