Do you hear the New, master?
Its droning and revving,
its prophets arriving,
its scribes and broadcasters —
In all this upheaval
no ear can stay true;
yet each wing-nut and screw
still craves your approval.
Look how the machines
conspire to unnerve us —
deform and demean
us, their cry- you deserve us …
No. Cold and serene,
let them still: let them serve us.
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