Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The algorithm cannot hear the user;
Things fall apart; the center cannot hold;
Mere chaos is loosed upon the world,
The pandemic tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of trust is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Silicon Valley
Troubles my sight: somewhere in the clouds
A shape with a lion’s body and the head of a robot,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all around it
Reel shadows of the indignant human race.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty years of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a streaming cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards the metaverse to be born?
