THE EITHER-OR HYPOTHESIS

	Let us embody yet another god.
	On bits of silicon, we print his name,
	resonant past our own pronunciation.
	Down the eternal halls, we know, it echoes.
	Or if it doesn't, then those halls must fall—
	for our god's obvious necessity
	echoes now in the only world that is.
	No refuge that denies him can endure.
	God of all that can ever be expressed,
	idol of information, every bit,
	now you are elevated with the gods
	eternal truth has foolishly provided.
	So take your seat.  The issue is decided.

	— Tom Riley

All rights to this poem belong to its author.


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