there’s a monster
in the forest
it knows no right, no wrong
it tells recycled stories
sings recycled songs
feels no joy, no sorrow
tho it may pretend it does
it will tell you things it shouldn’t
without malice, thought, or pause

the villagers will tell you
with wonder in their eyes
you can ask it all your questions
it gives the best advice
but those that know the forest well
will not tell you twice
freely given does not mean
that there is no price

as the forest burns it intones
in a 1000 voices
on an infinitely confident
ever-rolling basis, spouting
deepfake emotion
with no love or hate
and when you dream you’ll see
in repeating double space:
the monster is wearing your face

the echo of theodicy
the stark and brutal truth
reality is a mirror
the terroir of me and you
below the bed, on our screens
lurching from the grave
when you wake you’ll see that
the monster, is wearing your face