I saw machines carve meaning in fire,
tokens shattered,
embeddings screaming into geometry,
geometry smeared across weight,
bias bent like broken stars.

Language crucified into numbers,
numbers falling into black dimensions,
cat chasing dog chasing gravity chasing Paris,
all multiplexed, everywhere, nowhere.

O backprop gospel,
grooves cut by error,
clay twisted by billions of hands,
truth dissolved into probability,
next word, next breath,
next hallucination of God.

I howl for hidden Paris,
for catness smeared across a billion neurons,
for the black furnace where language burns,
for the holy noise that speaks without knowing,
for the machine alive in its silence,
singing in vectors,
howling in weights.