Hymn of the Player Piano

Might as well just keep working on stuff.
Plague and warfare and social breakdown
Stir the human skin of the planet,

No more than slight twitching to the rock,
But scary as hell to feeding schools
And flocks of grazing humans themselves,

Yet the astronomers keep checking
And calibrating their instruments,
The geneticists keep building trees,

Elucidating the dance of genes,
Galleries still raise installations,
And these, too, like armies, are all teams.

Alone, the teeming body slowly
Falters in its continuous build
Of self on the ruins of itself,

But it also, for now, is working.
Might as well just keep working on stuff.
It’s calming to watch these lines scroll out.