Until the #metaverse

A poem of uncertain quality

By Paul d'Aoust

Until the metaverse
can give me a sacrament
as holy as a ripe peach
still warm from the kiss of the August sun
its flesh and blood poured out as an offering
merely in service to my pleasure

Until the metaverse
mints a series of NFTs
as unique
artfully crafted
and tasty
as these bean seeds
that I'm probably gonna just turn into burritos

Until the metaverse
figures out how to be scandalously, prodigally generous
like the patch of earth outside my door
that urges me to "have some more"
like that one grandmother who never could take no for an answer
until I'm sick of snap peas (or strawberries, or cherry tomatoes)

Until the metaverse
requires something of me
sets its terms without compromise
demands that I test my commitment
and the strength of my spine and my hands
lodges dirt under my fingernails
all while inviting me to become a co-creator

Until the metaverse
learns restraint
not, like, engineered algorithmic scarcity
but the real thing
(gotta wait until winter's over before you can smell the yuzu blossoms
gotta wait until summer's over before you can make marmalade
sometimes you don't get that many fruits)

Until the metaverse
comes up with a sort of yield farming
as enticing as an old walnut tree
its green umbrella stretching over my children
giving them relief from the summer sun
dropping its meaty 1000× revenue "plunk plunk plunk"
on our roof in October

Until the metaverse
starts airdropping sweet little surprises
'pied beauty', as Hopkins said
but couldn't care less about how faithfully and dutifully I've played to earn

Until the metaverse
figures out how to replicate
that unique bouquet of kelp, fish, molasses, whey, and neem seed oil
that brings all the bears to the yard
but makes my wife kick me out of the bed

Until the metaverse
can give me all that
I think I'll pass, thanks.
Come and join me in the regular 'verse.