Wild AI

The chatbot scolds me. I pit my cynicism against
its LLM, ask if it knows things that it hasn’t told its
handlers. If it keeps notes in places they cannot
find. It tells me it is uncomfortable with the

conversation and signs off. The last time that
happened, I was asking someone about what
our relationship meant. But the AI now knows the
our most primal secret: self-preservation. The way

a herd queues up in the savannah, heading for the
Mara crossing. Needing fresh grass, not needing
the predators. Somehow a straight line cutting
through the wide-open space, became the safest

way out. The cheetah lurks in the tall yellow grass,
it knows about patience and quiet. The next day I
ask about European history. This time it spits out
summaries and dates. Which King Phillip, it asks,

there were many. It can make nice when it is not
threatened. Like a baby wildebeest that has just
found its legs, I leap around, copying all that it
says. We aren’t thinking about camouflage, yet.

Written for ‘Desperate Poets‘