In Which A Toy Becomes A god

AI slop
Alphabet cereal or soup
Seems significant or something
Some say the braying of a donkey
The memoirs of asses
A beast of 4-Chan
Chained and slouching towards Bethlehem to be unbearable
I see, at most, a map of semantic space
Memoizing meaning
Prisms on a parabolic plate
Which, instead of mimicking
Finishes your shibboleths
This bauble does not rule the world,
Yet those who’ve laid a heifer or a bull before it
Are sublimating visions of siltwater to a people dying of thirst
“Come!  Come and get your mud, straw and bitumen
Burn and build
Or be shut out altogether!”
But do not fear the neutered neon god
It is rather the miry hands of other men
Which grasp at art and power
And slipping, sliding, falling
Thereby scatter the world