My Own Private Ulysses: Now Apocalypse
In the Age of AI, I made what rhymed,
Instead of contagious video clips.
Ticktock said the Doomsday Clock, midnight chimed,
The past passed on to the Now Apocalypse.
So down I doubled on a double niche,
Shakespeare sonnets and the jots of James Joyce,
A weak last-ditch wild pitch at killed-off kitsch.
Devo said so, we got freedom from choice.
Our Sci-fi future and period-piece past
Rattled and died in the digital smoke,
Time and space lost their place, caught in the blast.
The all-mighty algorithm has spoke.
Yes, I hid with the old when the world turned new.
If I may be so bold, what’d you do?
Stay tuned for more moribund sonnets.
Same end time, same cyber channel.
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