He spent all day on the internet battling atheists.
Ripping bongs and smoking fancy colored cigarettes.
Hours compiled––he couldn’t leave his computer.
Engorged in the back and forth; he transcribed the universe.
Beside him on the table––a mountain of trash.
He pours himself a victory vodka and juice.
They got nothing on robotica is all he can conclude.
He smells like healthy grandiosity and a burgeoning dream.
“God is a robot; one day those motherfuckers are gonna understand.”
In his mind he is a soaring eagle with a broken talon––
Still he catches the fish––
But he looks like a busting fire hose––
Proving wrong the myth of the hiltless sword.
His panache is bewildering.
His aura––electric and unbreakable––a forcefield of belief.
High on his insanity––over the edge and misunderstood––
Deep in the realm of a shadowy hood;
It is impossible to prove him wrong.
They want him to eat pills and open his eyes.
Too bad his motto is stay crazy or die.
A stream of conviction is a beautiful sight
if the fluid is alien
and its logic is right.
May the voice in his head be a north star in the night.