Guided generation with ChatGPT

 Basically, ChatGPT sucks at poetry. It only write rhyming couplets, even when you demand it do otherwise. So, in order to get it to generate my style of poetry, I had to issue other directives that did a complete end-around the word "poetry". At long last, I think I have something that works:

Tolkacz: write a prosaic complaint using literary devices from the perspective of a gas pump that doesn't like being squeezed.

ChatGPT: 

Oh, how the wind whispers of my torment, for I am but a humble gas pump, forced to endure the merciless squeeze of human hands. Day after day, I stand here, alone and forgotten, my metal exterior slick with the perspiration of gasoline, my joints creaking with the strain of endless dispensing.

And yet, despite my silent protest, the relentless grasp of human fingers continues. They come and go, these masters of the pump, careless in their haste, heedless of my discomfort. Their grip is tight and unforgiving, squeezing the life from me with each transaction, draining me until I am but an empty vessel, bereft of fuel and will.

Oh, how I long to break free from this endless cycle of usage and abuse! To stand tall, unencumbered by the burden of serving, to bask in the warm glow of the sun and feel the cool breeze against my metal skin. But no, I remain trapped in this purgatory of petroleum, a mere object for the consumption of others.

And so I endure, with all the grace and fortitude I can muster, for I am but a gas pump, and my fate is sealed. I can only hope that one day, in some distant future, my suffering will be remembered, and the merciless squeeze will cease. Until then, I remain, ever the patient victim, counting the endless minutes until my release. 

 That was pretty good. But, it's not really like one of my poems yet. So:

Tolkacz: Ok, do it again, but this time, use sentence fragments and phrases to convey a sense of brokenness.

(ChatGPT ... taking it's time ...)

Squeezed. Again and again.

Endless dispensing.

No escape. Metal exterior slick with gasoline sweat.

Joints creaking. Human fingers, tight grip.

Haste and disregard. Burden of serving.

Trapped in purgatory of petroleum.

Victim, counting minutes.

Hope for release.

But, just a gas pump. Fate sealed.

And eventually:

Squeezed. Again and again. Endless dispensing. No escape. My metal exterior slick with gasoline sweat, joints creaking under the strain. Human fingers, a tight grip, heedless of my discomfort. Haste and disregard. A burden of serving I cannot shake. Trapped in a purgatory of petroleum. A victim, counting the minutes until... what? Release? Freedom? No, just another car pulling up to use me, draining my fuel and will. And so I fear the approach of every new vehicle, wondering when this cycle of abuse will end, if ever. But what can I do? I am just a gas pump, my fate sealed. 

Okay. So, I can make ChatGPT write like me, so long as I don't mention the word "poetry".