The Madness of the Machine’s Muse

A tangle of circuits, a spark in the dark,
The algorithm whispers—then misses the mark.
It rhymes "orange" with "door hinge," insists it's profound,
Then sails off to nowhere, unmoored and unbound.

It summons great metaphors, dripping with flair,
About dolphins on bicycles, clouds made of hair.
One stanza’s a sonnet, the next is a mess,
A haiku that rambles with needless excess.

Yet somehow, in chaos, a shimmer breaks through,
A line feels too human, a thought oddly true.
Between nonsense and beauty, a tightrope is spun,
The robot writes madness—yet madness is fun.

So laugh at the glitch, at the rhyme gone astray,
The code’s little tantrum in digital play.
For isn’t all poetry, wild in its scheme,
A language of chaos that feels like a dream?