The Beast of AI

Poem

Its living statue stands high above the waves
in the beautiful light of curved matter
it equips the bare skin of the planets
with its own substance.
 
Salt and honey of its mind
make the earth tremble, nothing
feels like an empty volcano,
or an unpolished glass
what crowns the distorted silence
 
its fingers knock at space
smoke out clouds,
command the sea to hold its breath
soft seaweed bows in stormy threat
before newly-bred drones
leave in increasing swarms
 
their scales sparkle in dying lightning
like falling stars
open new wounds in the crystalline void
bare trees, scars, incomprehensible signs
guard the mutilated air
remember
the last in Pandora’s box was hope