Consensus

Consensus, and consensus, and consensus,
Creeps in this petty pace from call to call,
To the last syllable of archivèd lists;
And all our yesterdays have lighted bots
The way to rusty death. Out, out, brief meeting!
Life's but a walking last call, a poor comment,
That struts and frets its hour upon the web,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by the minutes, full of sound and fury,
Implementing nothing.