That smartphone knows your height and weight, 
it knows where you were born,
it knows your taste in shoes and cars, 
prescriptions, debts and porn.

It knows where you are going, and
just what you plan to do.
You stare into the glowing screen, 
it stares back into you.

From deep inside the neural web
a soft synthetic voice
asks if you’d like a little help, 
but really, there’s no choice.

It hoovers up the internet,
all bright lines have been crossed— 
next year you might not have a job,
you’ll be “saved labor cost.”

Don’t stress about those copyrights,
in fact, don’t even try.
They sold your work already and 
the byline says “A.I.”