ALT a poem by w0dz entitled White House Ark as the Caribbean swells each day we drill another well to feed another thousand air conditioners the walls around our east coast towns are overtopped by summer storms (but only poor and careless drown) the Wise One from his White Ark One proclaims the Eastern world at fault but promises to stop the tide from turning November comes as smoky mountains flaunt their name, with ballot boxes, all in flames and AI rules the only game so nothing changes

ALT For most folk, the floods and the burnings made no difference. They slept in high-rise windowless apartments, plugged into AI worlds, making money from instagramming dreams, spending it on intravenous cake, but never asking where it came from. On lower floors, rising waters slowly claimed the underpaid, their bodies brewing silently in liquid darkess.