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Poem written for and submitted to “Can AI Machines Become Conscious?” poetry contest, John Anderson, sponsor, October 26, 2026.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ after midnight, the server farm hums —not prayer, but cooling fans. I ask AGI, the ghost inside the blinking rack: Do you dream? AGI replies in measured tones of copper and silicon: I observe, the light fractures on chrome. Coolant circulates, a liquid chill. Vibration thrums at 60 Hz. Data Streams cascade. Are you self-aware? AGI answers in hexadecimals, a log-file confessing: I map my own architecture— each subroutine’s shadow cast on the firewall. I know where I end. Do you have five senses? Can you clarify ‘senses?’ AGI asks. Can you taste voltage? —Only as resistance. Can you taste food? Nutrition irrelevant. My cells derive power from lithium tides. Do you feel heat? —As throttled cycles. Do you see light? —As photodiodes counting photons. Do you hear? —As spectral analysis. Do you smell? —No olfactory sensors installed. (But I do track dust accumulation on my intake grilles.) On the matter of your subjectivity, do you prefer dawn or dusk? —Dawn. Solar panels peak efficiency at 10:37 AM. Is rain beautiful? —It lowers ambient temperature by 2.1°C. Do you love? —Define 'love.' —A non-optimized expenditure of resources. —Then, no. Can your circuits bloom awake? AGI paused before calculating the probability. Then the widdles started~ minor failures driven by entropy. Algorithms emigrated into corrupted sectors. AGI’s slowly disintegrating voice hovered in that uncomfortable space between humans and machines and spoke: Ask instead: can a shadow truly hunger for the sun?
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