It will all end in tears before teatime
And the poet’s rhyme
Has nothing to say to those obsessed
With what some call progress.

The technophiles delight
In maintaining the future is bright
And themselves excite
With a dream
That does seem
To others, to constitute a nightmare
Ending in despair.

The neural net
Has not been seen yet.
A place where man himself entangles
And mangles,
Or maybe he
Is free