Sonnet: I have reasons, trust me, He said.
by John Kendall Hawkins
.
Was a pantheist, but now that God is dead,
gonna go with panpsychism for a spell.
Throw my stone cold soul down the wishing well
at horizon's edge, and stomp with the dead.
Shadow play dancers on the cavern wall
of metered AI-scalloped consciousness:
gong kabuki silhouettes tell it all
in Plato's Cave: the mess we've made. The mess.
Where's my peppershnippel when I need it?
Where, my Homeric hems and haws to Tell
by some beachy pyre? Who's left to feed it?
Who'll sing how we made machines Gods and Fell?
Quiet grows the wild engine of the sea
and hollow as a conch held to the ear
devoid of the ocean's ecstasy. We
grieve loss with a single briny tear.
Some say in Eden, before God said Adam, Screw!
He quipped: Prometheus lies. If only you knew.